Skyfire
by Foxflight
Summary: Oropher and his son Thranduil came to Greenwood hoping to find a home among the Silvan elves, but Eithryn, a rather uncooperative she-elf, isn't sure she wants her people in the hands of the Sindar. Since locking her up somewhere might not go over well, the three of them must find some way to coexist.
1. Welcome Home

**_Okay, so before we begin, some background info: most of these chapters take place in Greenwood, as mentioned in the first paragraph. In case you didn't know, Thranduil and his father are actually Sindarin elves, not Silvan elves like most of the wood elves of Greenwood (a.k.a. Mirkwood). They came to Greenwood after leaving their home and maybe wandering around for a while (for the purposes of this story, a _long_ while because that works better for me)._**

_On a chilly autumn day in the year 2942 of the Third Age of Middle-Earth, an elf stood on a hill overlooking a dark forest, thinking—specifically, considering one particular word._

_ Mirkwood. They called his home Mirkwood, and it stung him to realize that the word was not unfitting. The forest was not what it had been, and neither was he._

_ Greenwood the Great, it had been called once, and it truly had been great. It had been a young kingdom, but strong and full of life, just as he had been. And then the Shadow had stolen everything from him, leaving only one string to hold his broken heart together._

_ At that thought, the elf looked out to the west, to the mountain range far, far in the distance. His son was somewhere out there, the elf knew, experiencing the wide world with a sense of wonder that his father had almost forgotten how to feel. The elf thought of him every day... and with those thoughts came older memories, ones that had been kept locked up for millennia because of the pain they brought. Perhaps, the elf thought as his sharp blue eyes scanned the distant peaks, it was time for that to change._

_ And so the Elvenking remembered..._

. . . . . .

The forest was ancient, surely older than the race of elves, and showed no signs that any intelligent beings had ever been there before. Some of the trees reached more than a hundred feet into the air, and almost that to each side. Many of the trunks were five times as thick as an elf was tall, and emerald vines, often covered in flowers, had wound themselves around and around, in some cases up to the very top. Truly, Greenwood lived up to its name—but beauty did not always mean safety.

It was sometimes said in Middle-Earth that every elf was at home in a forest. While technically true, what that statement neglected to mention was that not _all_ elves were at home in _all_ forests. In fact, there were, at this very moment, a hundred or so Sindarin elves who were slightly uncomfortable in the realm of the less civilized and as-yet-unseen Silvan elves.

They were led by Oropher and came from Doriath, but that was no longer their home; as a matter of fact, they hoped to make a new one here—Oropher thought the Silvan elves might accept their guidance and possibly even a king. The others crowded close to him, attracted to his confidence like moths to a flame, watching every shadow warily. They should have been looking up, although they probably would not have noticed even then that they were not alone. Green eyes, the same color as the sun-lit leaves, watched them from above.

The Silvan elf crouched on a wide branch only ten feet above their heads, listening for clues as to who they were. She wasn't sure she cared, though; most of them were wearing showy robes, which automatically marked them for pranks in her eyes. She guessed—correctly—that those were supposed to impress her, but she had yet to meet the Silvan elf whose first thought wouldn't be that they were rather impractical, and, really, just because they lived here didn't mean they were naïve.

"Sky."

The speaker—or rather, whisperer—was another Silvan elf right over where the Sindar would be in a few seconds. This one's eyes were the same green interrupted in some spots by deep brown. He was her brother, Storm; the meanings of their names in the Common tongue were Skyfire and Stormfire, and since they both were named in and spoke Silvan, they were referred to by each other and everyone else by just the first part of their names as a timesaver.

"Tripwires? Pitfalls? What do you think?"

She was about to decide on tripwires when one of the Sindar-the only one who wasn't at all hiding behind the one in front, and who looked enough like him to be his son—said something.

"Are you _certain_ this is wise?" Thranduil managed to mutter the question _just_ loudly enough that every Sindar—and the sharp-eared Silvan elves—heard it clearly.

Oropher almost groaned; somehow he had known he was about to hear that from his son _again_. He had _sensed_ it growing within him; indeed, he had expected it to come a minute or so before. At least Oropher knew his son was not afraid; he was simply so sure he knew better than Oropher did. "I assure you, Thranduil, we have nothing to fear from them. Their weapons are inferior; they may have bows, but nothing else. They are _harmless_."

There was a _twang_ and a soft thud, and Oropher pulled up short, suddenly feeling the back end of an arrow against his nose. Trying to move backward, he discovered another against the back of his head, stuck fast in the outer bark of one of the massive trees.

Up above, Storm shook his head as Sky lowered her bow and leapt to another branch before the Sindar could trace the arrow's path.

Thranduil drew his swords as Oropher pulled out from between the two arrows. "They hit at the same time, from the same direction, and at the same height," Thranduil noted. "One archer."

"One extraordinary archer," Oropher said. Then, louder and in Silvan, "We come in peace!"

_Then keep your insults to yourself,_ Sky thought with a grin, watching the rest of the swords appear, _and put away your weapons._ "Oh, I'm sorry," she called down in perfect Sindarin. "I thought you were a rabbit. I'm glad you aren't, though; I could _never_ defeat one of those. I should stick to butterflies."

"Enough cringing!" Oropher hissed at his elves. "There is only one!" Of course the first one had to be sarcastic; from the sound of it, she was worse than his son.

_This one's sarcasm could match my father's, _Thranduil thought. "Come down and talk; we will not harm you."

"Nice to know," Sky said, jumping down.

Thranduil's eyes widened. The she-elf's hair was a dark brown, but in the sun it shone like copper, and her eyes...

Oropher wasn't quite sure what to make of it, either. He had heard these Silvan elves usually had red or brown hair, but this was unexpected.

Thranduil shook the thought away. This pretty elf had nearly killed his father. She gave him a curious look, perhaps having noticed his stare, and waved experimentally. He raised an eyebrow.

Another elf, this one male, landed beside the first. Thranduil shook his head; this had to be her brother, because he had the same hair—though it looked like he had stained parts of it with charcoal—and two-color eyes.

"Hi," the second Silvan elf said. "I'm Coryn, and this is my sister, Eithryn. She's the one who shot at you, but if you knew her, you wouldn't blame me for failing to stop her." He snickered slightly, undermining his claim of innocence.

They were not from his culture, Oropher reminded himself. Perhaps they did not know any better. "We are Sindar, displaced from our home—"

"And you've generously come to enlighten us?" Coryn asked.

Oropher had not known just how generous he was being until moments ago. "That is correct."

Coryn turned to his sister. "Hey, Sky, they've come to correct our stupidness," he said dryly. "How nice of them."

"Ooh, maybe they can teach us how to cook food and talk goodly!" Eithryn cried.

Oh, wonderful, Oropher thought—now they were both doing it. "This is a serious matter," he protested. Thranduil rolled his eyes.

"But sister," Coryn continued, ignoring him, "how can we cook the food if we can't find it? Do you think they can teach us that?"

The she-elf gasped. "No! No one has that much smartness!"

"But look! Their clothes are shiny! They must have very much power!"

Oropher cleared his throat. "We would be appreciative," he said, somewhat frustrated, "if you would introduce us to some of your friends."

"But great master," Eithryn protested with a bow, "they do not have the smartness to know what you are speaking!"

"Enough," Oropher growled.

The brother nodded with pretend thoughtfulness. "You thinks they have the smartness to know little words of it?" Oropher drew in a breath, and Coryn held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, calm down." He sprang into the nearest tree. "And keep up!"

Eithryn followed him.

Oropher knew what was coming; he could almost hear it already. Sure enough, the words came from Thranduil exactly as his father had imagined them: "Harmless, you said?"

Oropher sighed.

**_I've already started work on the next chapter and have rough drafts of the first bunch, but I can't promise I'll finish soon. Thanks for reading!_**


	2. Wooden Swords

**_Took me forever to get this one done. Sorry._**

**_It doesn't matter for the story, but they're probably speaking only Silvan in the second scene. Technically, that means I should always either translate or not translate the names (with the exception of the Sindarin ones), but oh well. Enjoy._**

"No," Thranduil told his father bluntly. "It is most certainly your turn."

Oropher stood and began walking back and forth, rubbing his temples. "Is this because of _them_?"

"Why else would I refuse?" Thranduil put his chin in one hand and held out the other imploringly. "I cannot teach while they are there, father. They disrupt the others and refuse to learn."

"What would you have me do? The others listen to them; we must earn their respect."

Three months after they had entered Greenwood, the Sindar were making good progress, and were beginning to teach the Silvan elves about such things as history, math, and, today's topic, weapons. Most were very intelligent and eager to learn, but a small minority were less cooperative, thinking the lessons or the presence of the Sindarin elves unnecessary. The worst of these were Coryn and Eithryn. "I would have you do it yourself."

Oropher sat back down, leaning over the wooden desk between him and his son. "If you are to be their prince, you will have to find a way to control them. Go." When the younger elf did not move, he narrowed his eyes. "That was not a request."

Thranduil put his face in his hands, resigning himself to what he had to do, then sighed deeply and walked out without another word.

Oropher leaned back in his chair. He disliked forcing his son into things, but they truly did need the cooperation of the two copper-haired elves, and, though he had not mentioned it to his son, he suspected they were slightly kinder to Thranduil. Besides, he was beginning to dread negotiating with them.

. . . . . .

Sky hopped of the branch and dropped down into the middle of the twenty or so elves waiting in the clearing for the day's lesson to start. The prince had promised the topic would be the use of swords, and indeed there were a pile of vaguely sword-like sticks sitting off to the side.

She made her way over to where her brother was talking with two of their friends, Kilvara and Felrion. "Guess who I just eavesdropped on," she snickered.

"Oh, dear," Felrion sighed, giving Storm a look.

Sky made a face at him. "Apparently there was a disagreement about who's going to 'control' us today."

"To be fair," Storm remarked, "we do need it."

"We do," she agreed. "My point is, we're getting to them."

"How far are the two of you planning to go with this?" Felrion wanted to know.

Sky's grin widened. "Far enough."

"The idea here, as far as I know," Storm explained, "is to find out the exact character of our new friends—see what their weaknesses are, and make sure we can trust them."

"No," Sky broke in, "it's to teach them how to be Silvan." She looked around at the skeptical faces. "It's what they said they wanted, isn't it?"

"I don't think they were asking for whatever you had in mind," said Felrion. "Tell you what—do whatever you want, but don't get _me_ on their bad side, please."

"Of course not." Sky paused. "Do they scare you?"

"Yes," Felrion answered without hesitation, "and I don't mind saying so, because I suspect they scare everyone except the three of you."

"The two of them," Kilvara corrected. "You know I'm with you, Sky, but my blood freezes over when Thranduil looks at me."

"They're leading by fear," Sky mused. "We can fix that. Storm? Are you in?"

"But of course, sister."

Felrion chuckled. "Personally, I think the Sindar should stay, but I'll patch you up if you push them too far."

Kilvara punched him playfully in the shoulder. "You be like that, then."

"Here he comes," Storm warned. "Look innocent."

Kilvara and Felrion moved away as the elves automatically formed a semicircle around Thranduil. The leader's son _was_ somewhat intimidating, Sky supposed, but she got the impression that was just his natural way of being, so there was nothing to be gained by trying to change the behavior itself. But the arrogance was another matter entirely…

Thranduil narrowed his icy-blue eyes into a glare as he surveyed the Silvan elves, his scowl deepening when Coryn responded with his own mocking version of the expression. The sister's green eyes glinted as they met Thranduil's, and the Sindar could tell he was about to wish he had stayed in Doriath.

Best to get this over with as quickly as possible. He raised his hand for silence and announced, "Today is your first day of weapons training. It should be clear that _this is not a game._" He looked directly at an unimpressed Eithryn as he spoke. "How well you do here will determine whether you live or die on the field of battle, and I will take it upon myself to ensure you are skilled enough to survive. _Is that understood_?" It was. He went over and retrieved a wooden sword from the pile, and it was as he strode back that a possible complication occurred to him. He stopped and placed a hand over his eyes, berating himself for not having brought another Sindar with him. There was nothing to be done about it now; he would simply have to continue the lesson, so he braced himself and announced, "I will require—"

Somehow the green-eyed she-elf knew what he was going to say, and her hand was up before he could finish.

"A volunteer," Thranduil muttered. "Eithryn. Wonderful. Get a sword, please." He could not believe he had just said those words.

Eithryn bounced over to the pile and took an unnecessary amount of time to select one of the makeshift weapons, picking up one after the other only to make a face and put it back down without even swinging it. She then wandered slowly in his general direction, swinging her sword at anyone who didn't move away in time and nearly falling over several times in the process.

Thranduil waited, maintaining the appearance of patience until she reached him. As soon as he could do so without revealing his eagerness to get this over with, he began, "Eithryn and I will demonstrate—"

Something smacked his shoulder. Eithryn hid her "sword" behind her back and widened her eyes innocently as he turned to give her a threatening look.

"We have not yet begun," he said dangerously.

Her eyes got even bigger. "I was pretending you were an orc, and I decided to kill you while you were distracted."

His smile was frightening, but if it had any effect, she didn't show it. Many of the others edged back, expecting a real fight to erupt, and many more—including Coryn—stepped forward, ready to protect Sky, but Thranduil turned away from her—though he did keep watching her out of the corner of his eye. "When we begin—notice I said _when_, Eithryn—you will—Eithryn, what did I just say?—you will notice—_No,_ Eithryn, put the sword _down_—that we—STOP THAT!"

Sky easily avoided his swing (which was totally unexpected, as she had only whacked him over the head with her stick), and Thranduil suddenly found himself on the ground with his sword several feet away. There was a moment of stunned silence with everyone gaping at the copper-haired she-elf, and then the Silvan elves burst into cheers, which were interrupted by Thranduil rising fluidly to his feet, picking up both his sword and two more from the pile, and saying "Again" as he threw Eithryn one of the swords to add to her own, charging without giving her time to prepare.

The fight was much more even this time. It seemed to Thranduil that he constantly had the advantage, but Eithryn was incredibly agile, and his strikes always missed her by a fraction of an inch. Her clumsy antics from before, he realized, had been an act, one he should have seen through; any elf who leapt through the trees as quickly as these wood elves had to be exceptionally coordinated. Angrily, Thranduil pushed himself harder; the mere thought of telling his father he had lost a fight to her made him want to impale the impudent little Silvan elf.

Sky knew she needed to win quickly; sooner or later, one of the Sindar's attacks was going to hit its mark, and he would not make any attempt to be gentle. So she crouched, and his swords went down with her, slicing in from the sides.

She didn't move for just a moment too long, and Thranduil thought he had her at last, but he was wrong.

At the last moment, she sprang, doing a somersault up and over his head, and as she flew over him, she poked one stick into his chest and slashed the other across his throat. She did a flip in the air so that she could see Thranduil's shocked face as she landed, and she was not disappointed. The blond elf looked like he could have happily murdered her.

"You underestimated me," she told him with a cocky grin as Storm appeared, edging between them protectively.

Thranduil's expression became unreadable, and he turned on his heel to leave.

Sky's head tilted sideways and she skittered around to get in his way. "What, giving up on us so soon?"

"You've got to be kidding," Storm agreed. "All it takes to make you walk away is one defeat?"

"By Sky, no less," Kilvara added.

Thranduil turned his head slightly in their direction. "Is she so much better than the rest of you?"

"Are you kidding? Only she, Storm, and Kilvara can use a sword," one of the wood elves pointed out.

"_We've_ done some traveling," Sky explained. "The others, not so much."

Thranduil folded his arms over his chest. "Why should I stay and endure your taunts? It seems you are capable of continuing this lesson."

Sky surprised them all by answering, "Because then your father might hear about what happened."

Thranduil's brow furrowed; everyone else looked at Storm for an explanation. "I still thought we didn't like him," he said with a shrug.

"We don't, but we're giving him another chance," Sky said, and no one said anything to the contrary. "What do you say, Sindar?"

Thranduil smelled a trap, but if she was truly willing to keep today's events a secret... "Very well."

"Great. Get a sword, everyone."

"I planned to—" Thranduil started to protest, but the Silvan elves were already obeying Eithryn. "Never mind."

**_Poor Thranduil; he's just so fun to mess with. That's my excuse for all the bad things that are going to happen to him as I write this story._**


	3. Orcs

**_Yay, finally finished chapter three!_**

**_Warning: there's some drama in this one. Maybe angst would be a better word... but it's not really angsty... anyway, they yell at each other. Several times, actually. But sometimes people need to yell at each other, you know? And sometimes one needs to write about people yelling at each other, especially if it's funny. I hope I made it at least a little bit funny._**

**_Notice how I build the suspense by talking and talking and talking (or rather, typing and typing and typing). Okay, okay, I'm done. Here's chapter 3._**

The flames from the campfires were surely only a few feet high; one would not expect the light to filter through more than a few layers of leaves. And yet, Sky, halfway between the two camps and a great distance from either, could see two glowing orange spots in the otherwise dark forest. One made her fists clench in anger—she did not want to think about what the orcs might be using as fuel—while the other only annoyed her.

It was ten years after the Sindar had come to Greenwood—not long at all for an elf—and signs of orcs had been spotted on the forest's southern border. Normally the very few Silvan elves who were skilled in combat—Sky and Storm in the lead—would have taken care of it, but things were different these days. Sky's expression soured as she thought about the wood elves' choice to make Oropher—Oropher!—their king. The organized patrols were his idea; Sky joining this one was not, but she took his lack of argument when she announced she was going as permission.

She tapped disapprovingly on the trunk of the tree whose branch she stood on, more than eighty feet off the ground, though the height didn't bother her. What did bother her was the lack of caution displayed by the leader of her patrol.

. . . . . .

Thranduil relaxed by the fire, watching the Silvan elves prepare a late dinner or gather in clusters to talk. Few of them came over to speak with him, even more so now that he was their prince. Even the other Sindar hardly looked at him. He did not mourn the loss, though, because it meant they were showing him the proper respect... though he _was_ just slightly jealous when almost every one of them cheerfully greeted Eithryn as she returned.

"I told you to stay nearby," he called to her, interrupting the reception.

Her head turned. "I _was_ nearby," she said matter-of-factly. "I could see the light from the fire. That's closer than you want any orc to come."

He waved her over. She complied, sitting down on the ground rather than on one of the logs the Silvan elves had brought over. "Yes, prince?"

"Do you have a problem with the fire?"

"Anyone within a thousand trees of here can see it. More, if they're inclined to climb." She looked up at the stars. "And I know what you're going to say—the orcs aren't close enough to see it; they're not in the trees. And it's true; they aren't. But what if they were?"

"Perhaps you would enjoy standing guard for a few hours, if it concerns you so greatly?"

"That's what I was just doing, idiot," she said in a very polite tone. "My point is, it's not a problem now, but someday it might be. You have no right to take the risk."

He rose quickly. "I do not believe it is any of your business what I choose to do."

She, too, was up in an instant. "It isn't my business whether my friends die?"

She had said that much too loudly. All the Silvan elves were listening now.

"Sit down," Thranduil hissed. She didn't, but he continued anyway. "Do you _really_ believe I would do such a thing?"

She looked into his eyes, and her countenance changed in an instant. "Not now. I had to make sure, though."

He rolled his eyes and turned back to the fire.

"Well, see you later, then," she said, trotting back into the trees.

"The evening meal is nearly ready," Thranduil called after her.

Her voice drifted back from the darkness. "I'm fine; I ate this morning."

Thranduil sighed. He never knew quite what to do with her.

. . . . . .

Eithryn was back at the camp before the sun rose the next morning, stealing a piece of meat from over the fire before it was ready, but Thranduil couldn't blame her if she really hadn't eaten for an entire day. She moved to sit by Felrion—the only one of her close friends on the patrol—but Thranduil, sitting on a root at the edge of the clearing, called her over again.

"Whatever it was, I'm not apologizing for it," she informed him, but she seemed to be in a good mood, which, for the prince, was not a good sign.

He did not expect this to go well, but he had been ordered to try. "My father wishes—"

"I'll stop you right there. Does this have anything to do with rules? If so, you're welcome to tell me, but I won't listen."

By her definition, it probably did. "My father wishes to appoint—"

"Not interested."

"Perhaps you would change your mind if you would let me—"

"Probably not. I'm not really the leader type."

"Really?" he asked disbelievingly.

"Yes, actually. I want to keep my friends safe and everything, but I don't have the patience to deal with the problems. I prefer to cause trouble from the outside and make fun of the leaders."

"That _does_ seem accurate," he agreed.

"I'm not really part of all this, you know," she told him. "This kingdom you're setting up. Greenwood's my home, but that doesn't mean I'll become one of your soldiers."

Was she threatening to leave? He turned to look at her, and found her staring back at him. Something in her bright eyes made him uncomfortable, and he looked away again. "I will inform my father."

"Perfect." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her go to join the others.

He had almost no time to enjoy that fact before she was back. "Why does your father even want me to do whatever it was you were trying to ask about?"

Why would she never leave him alone? "He says you have influence. He thinks," he scoffed, "that you would be more willing to cooperate if he bribed you with authority."

Sky was taken aback. "He thinks I'm like him?"

"Apparently," Thranduil agreed.

Sky laughed. "I feel insulted," she told him.

"I would too," he said, to her surprise, although it made sense once she reminded herself that he probably had possessed a sense of humor at one time.

They grinned at each other, then frowned at the same time as they realized they weren't supposed to be getting along. Both felt they should say something, and it was Sky who put her words together first. "Orcs. That way." She pointed south.

"Indeed."

Sky clapped her hands once, breaking the awkward silence before it could return. "Let's go, then. What are we waiting for?"

The response came with a raised eyebrow. "Breakfast."

She snapped her fingers; she'd known she was forgetting something. "Right. Drat."

Thranduil rose to his full height, looking down at the relatively small she-elf. "You should not be so eager."

That look was in her eyes again, and suddenly he didn't feel so tall. "Not eager to destroy creatures of darkness? I think you're wrong, Sindar."

. . . . . .

Thranduil ended up being very glad Eithryn was there; for all except the two of them and a Sindarin elf named Taensirion, this fight would be a new experience, and Eithryn's confidence-bordering-on-fearlessness seemed to give them courage.

"You'll be fine once it starts," she encouraged Felrion, slapping him on the back. "Just do what you do when you're saving someone's life. Don't think about the fear." He nodded determinedly, and she moved away from him, swerving toward Thranduil at the front of the group. "Does Felrion have to fight?" she asked. "He's… well, you've seen him in training, but he's a wonderful healer. The only one we brought, actually."

Thranduil considered her request, but decided against it. "He will fight this time," he told her. "The danger is not great."

She started to argue, but instead she took out her two long knives and began swinging them around much closer to Thranduil than he would have liked.

It wasn't long before the orcs were in sight. The elves—in the trees by now—moved as close as they could without being seen, and Thranduil announced that they would observe the enemy for a while.

Sky, to put it bluntly, thought that was a stupid idea. She'd watched the orcs for a while the night before and seen nothing interesting, and waiting would only make the wood elves nervous again. She leapt into another tree, and, ignoring Thranduil's frantic attempts to get her to return, dropped right into the middle of the orc camp. As the main point of her fighting style seemed to be to kill as many orcs as she could as quickly as possible, there were a lot of scattered orc bits around her by the time the others attacked mere seconds later. Storm would be sorry he'd missed this, Sky thought, even if someone had needed to stay behind and annoy Oropher.

She sensed an orc behind her and ducked, spinning to the side at the same time so that she was in the right place to stab it in the gut with one knife while slicing another's head off with the other. From there, she leapt straight up, swung on a branch, kicked another orc in the face, landed on it and stabbed it, grabbed her bow and shot a few orcs—three pairs in three seconds—and finally dodged and took out her knives again as yet another orc swung its sword at her. _How many of these things are there?_ she wondered.

The most recent orc was bigger than the others, but not much faster, and she was just going in for the kill when she heard a scream. Looking around, she saw that Felrion was hurt—two orcs had trapped him up against a tree with no hope of escape, and blood was trickling down his arm. Without hesitation, she took her bow and sent an arrow into each orc's heart. Unfortunately, to do that she'd had to look away from the orc she was fighting, and its sword went right between her ribs.

She finished it off with an arrow to the brain and paused for a moment to assess the damage. The orc had probably been aiming for her heart, but luckily orcs had neither good aim nor knowledge of anatomy, so it had impaled her lung instead. It made breathing difficult, but she could still fight.

She only got to take out two more orcs before they were all gone. Overall, the fight seemed to have gone well; she and Felrion were the only ones who had anything worse than a few scratches, and they would both recover.

Felrion didn't react well when he saw what had happened to her. "I'm sorry," he apologized, trying to look at the wound. "It'll be okay, Sky. I'm so sorry."

Sky danced back out of his reach. "Hey, it's not your fault you can't fight. Help yourself first, I'm just fine."

Felrion wasn't buying it; it wasn't hard to see that she was having trouble pulling in air.

Thranduil eyed them from a distance. He disliked seeing her injured; he wanted to hurt her himself sometimes, but he hardly wished her dead. Indeed, he felt a sharp pain in his chest when she coughed suddenly, as though he were sharing her pain. A chill went down his spine when she took her hand away from her mouth and he saw the wet gleam of blood on it.

Sky regarded her hand with a peculiar expression. She hadn't known blood could come from her mouth like that. She yelped and lashed out as a strong hand gripped her shoulder and shoved her, not too gently, to the ground.

Thranduil fought back the urge to recoil as Eithryn's knee connected with his stomach, instead pinning her legs to the grass. "Hold still, you silly creature!"

"No! I said I'm fine! Let—me—GO!"

Thranduil could not believe she was being this stubborn; she had to be in horrible pain. It did not make sense. "You will only make it worse!"

Her thrashing stopped and she stared daggers at him as Felrion attended the wound.

"How is this so terrible that you would risk your life to escape it?" an exasperated Thranduil had to ask.

"It's humiliating, and I'm not risking my life, I'm fine," she insisted a third time.

"How is it humiliating? Do you think _I_ have never been wounded?"

"Felrion's hurt, too, and yet he's acting like I'm so fragile that he has to help me before himself."

She was completely irrational, Thranduil thought, but at least she was calmer now. "No one thinks you are fragile, Eithryn," he said soothingly.

"Then why are you talking to me like I'm a child?"

He answered before he could stop himself. "Because you act like one."

"I—hey!" She looked to Felrion for support, but he was suddenly very preoccupied with her injury. Thranduil was sure he saw the corner of the healer's mouth twitch up. "Well, you're… you're a troll-brain. So THERE."

The prince couldn't help himself. He snorted.

He expected Eithryn to snap at him, but she smiled sheepishly. "Okay, so maybe you're right."

They both looked at Felrion as he stood and stepped back. "She'll be fine," he said with an apologetic shrug, "but it would be best if she rested for a few days. Sorry, Sky."

Sky, however, had seen an opportunity to escape. Thranduil's grip loosened as he listened to Felrion, and Sky was able to wriggle free. The prince lunged after her, but she darted away. She was up the nearest tree in an instant.

Thranduil and Felrion stared at her in silence, and she glared back. No one moved for a long time.

She looked like a wild thing, Thranduil mused, crouching on that branch like that. A fox, perhaps, treed by hounds. There was no way that fox was coming down quietly.

Felrion had reached the same conclusions. "I could be wrong," he called up to Eithryn, holding up his hands in surrender. "It's not worth it," he murmured to Thranduil as he sat down on the ground.

Thranduil stayed at the base of the tree. "You can come down and talk now, silly girl, the healer has cleared you."

"I happen to like it up here." To prove her point, she sat down on her branch, dangling her legs over the side.

The prince smirked at her visible irritation at him. "I shall have to tell my father about your disobedience."

She frowned. "You're going to tell him I wouldn't come down from a tree? Oh, you mean how I got a head start on the orc-slaughter."

"You were reckless," he told her. "What if you had been killed?"

"What if I had been?" she challenged, wheezing a little.

"How dare you suggest I do not value the lives of my soldiers?!"

Felrion, attending to the cut on his arm, hoped out loud that he wouldn't have to stop anyone else's bleeding today and was thoroughly ignored.

"That's not what I said, prince!" Sky would have been raising her voice like Thranduil was if both her lungs had been working properly. "Listen to me! You could have lost any of us! Better me than one of them." She moved like she was going to jump down, but went back to a crouch instead.

Thranduil shook his head in disbelief and turned away. "Better you than them?" he muttered under his breath. It disturbed him how little she seemed to care about her own life.

Sky was perplexed that _that_ statement had been the one to make him shut up; it made perfect sense to her. She thought again about coming down, but the pain in her chest made her decide against moving, and she sat back against the trunk and closed her eyes.

Thranduil, turning back to argue with her, found that the conversation had apparently ended, held up his arms in a disgruntled gesture, and stalked off.

Felrion looked at them both and wondered.

**_What's Felrion wondering about? Will Sky and Thranduil ever learn to get along? So many mysteries! Sorry, I'm in a weird mood today._**

**_:)_**

**_Update: Fixed some weird typos. If you find any others in any of my stories, it would be great if you could let me know._**


	4. Trouble

**_Yay! Finally finished it!_**

**_Instead of a lengthy intro, let me just say this: Poor Oropher. And Poor Thranduil too, but he kind of asked for it. Then again-but I shouldn't spoil it. Just read the story already._**

**_P.S. This is a rough draft, so if you find any typos (including places where I put in the wrong word-I'm particularly prone to those), I'd appreciate it if you would let me know, if you have the time. Now seriously, read the story._**

"Dwarves? How many?" Sky's day, which had so far been rather dull, had suddenly taken a turn for the better.

"Twenty-five," Thranduil told her, frowning for some reason she didn't understand. "You are to ensure they remain safe during their stay."

"You mean that anything breakable remains safe," she corrected. "And you trust me to do this?"

"No." His tone said that should have been obvious.

"But your father wants me out of his hair for a while," she inferred. "Or no one else would do it. Or maybe he hopes I'll annoy them and they'll get rid of me for him." She glanced out the window. "Is Storm included in this?"

"Yes." He seemed very much aware of how this was going to go. It did not surprise him that she appeared to like dwarves.

"Are _you_ included in this?"

"If I were, you would not be," he assured her. She wasn't sure she believed that; the prince had been going far out of his way to keep an eye on her recently.

She was momentarily disappointed, but it had been too long—seventy-two years, to be specific—since she had been around dwarves, and she was excited whether there was a prince around to annoy or not. "So am I giving them a tour or what?"

"You will ensure they remain safe until the negotiations," Thranduil said sternly. "_That is all_. Am I understood?"

He seemed to say those words to her a lot, as if he thought she needed clarification instead of a reason to obey.

"My only responsibility is to keep them safe," she repeated. That was what he had said; no reason to read between the lines if she didn't have to.

Thranduil was quite aware that he had left her a giant loophole, but he was also aware that he did not wish to deal with it right now. He had a massive stack of paperwork to do; let someone else deal with her and the dwarves. He left without another word.

"You heard that?" Sky asked when he was out of range.

The cupboard door opened and her brother emerged. "Is it just us?"

"I was going to ask him, but he just walked out. You'd think a prince would know better." She grinned. "And we didn't even set a trap this time." The year before, they had rigged a bucket of soap to fall on the first person to open the door, which had just happened to be the prince. He hadn't spoken to them for a month afterward.

"Maybe last time was too much," Storm decided. "So. Dwarves?"

"Please. You know, I got the impression he didn't like them much," she observed.

"There's no understanding some people," Storm said with a shrug. "Let's go correct any misunderstandings our visitors have about elves."

. . . . . .

"Hello, dwarves!" Storm called, leaping gracefully out of the branches and into their midst. Sky followed a moment later.

Fifty dwarf hands went to weapon hilts. Sky decided to earn their trust.

"Don't take their treatment of you as an insult," she said in dwarvish, indicating the elven guards who stood, seemingly emotionless, in their shining new armor—Sky was supposed to be wearing some, but no one had felt like dragging her in to get it fitted, which they would literally have to do. It would ruin her fighting style, anyway.

"I think I'd be grumpy too if I trained half the day," Storm added.

The dwarves were perplexed, although the emotion manifested more like grumpy. The king and prince did that sometimes, Sky thought. Both would probably be very displeased if she compared them to the dwarves out loud.

"You speak dwarvish?" The confused/grumpy/curious leader growled.

"Of course!" Storm sounded like that should never have been in question. "We've had dwarf friends before."

The dwarf didn't seem to trust them, but he lowered his axe. "You have any food around here?"

Storm looked to Sky. "Do we?"

She grinned. "I'm sure we can find something. Hmm… I do believe the storehouse is full—you know, the one by the king's house?"

Storm looked at her like she was crazy. "You're not saying..."

"Don't tell me you're scared, brother."

"What're you talking about?" The dwarf wanted to know.

Storm scratched his head. "My crazy sister thinks it would be fun to raid the storehouse—the one that's guarded and that Oropher threatened us about. Remember, Sky? The thing about how if we messed up this feast like we did the last one, we wouldn't see the sun for the next fifty years? No, he'll never catch _us_, but what about the dwarves?"

The dwarves found that, for the first time in their lives, they agreed with an elf. Which elf that was varied between them.

"Come on," Sky begged. "Have you seen how much is in there? Twenty-five _trolls_ couldn't eat enough for them to miss it. And don't worry, dwarves, we know hiding places Oropher's never _dreamed_ of. And it'll drive him crazy."

"_You're _crazy," Storm repeated, but he grinned. "But if you're doing it anyway, I'll help."

The dwarves huddled up and whispered for a moment. When they dispersed, the leader looked up at Sky. "Can you assure our safety?"

"None of you will have so much as a scratch," she said firmly. "Whatever we have to do to make it that way."

The dwarf's bearded face broke into a smile. "You're lucky we do not represent our king, lass. He has never taken Oropher's insults and would not understand." He was not an old dwarf, and he was impulsive—maybe not the best choice for this mission, but few would have agreed to go at all, so he had been asked to lead the diplomatic party. He bowed low. "Corgad, at your service."

She bowed back; she wasn't exactly in the habit of bowing to rulers, but this was a show of respect between equals, and _dwarves_ didn't put too much emphasis on proper etiquette. "Sky, at yours."

The dwarf snorted. "That's not a name."

She wasn't offended. "Well, my full name is Skyfire—Eithryn in Silvan elvish—but when you're fighting orcs, one syllable is quicker to say than two."

Corgad had to admit it made some sense, put that way. "And you?" He asked the stripey-haired one.

"Storm, Stormfire, or Coryn, whichever you prefer," the elf answered.

"Would you just chose one?" Corgad complained.

"We'd chose the shortest ones," the male elf said, "but some of the Sindar feel they aren't dignified enough or something."

"They're all about dignity," the sister put in.

Corgad nodded sympathetically, but his belly rumbled to remind him what his priorities were. "Well then. Good to meet you, Stormy and whatever your name was, but we're hungry."

"This way," the male elf said, pointing in the proper direction. The guards, who did not speak dwarvish and hadn't understood a word that had been said, let them go.

They were lucky; the paths were mostly empty, so no one asked where Sky and Storm were going with a bunch of dwarves, and they reached the storehouse quickly and without trouble. Also luckily, one of the pair of guards was their favorite partner in crime.

"Good morning, Kilvara," Sky said, speaking in the common tongue so the dwarves could understand. "How's guard duty?"

The she-elf took off her helmet and shook out her red hair. "Well, at the moment, a group of dangerous criminals are attacking, so... not bad. How's dwarf duty?"

"Helpful for ransacking guarded buildings."

The other guard, also Silvan, seemed to feel like he should be doing something to stop them, but he had no wish to battle one of the copper-haired siblings alone, much less both of them with twenty-five dwarves and probably Kilvara. He started to back away as Storm introduced Kilvara to the dwarves.

He turned to run as he rounded the corner, but skidded to a stop as he came face-to-face with a pair of leaf-green eyes.

. . . . . .

Half an hour later, the dwarves were getting to the desserts when door opened.

Thranduil had done his best not to think about Eithryn and Coryn and the dwarves, but his conscience had tormented him with images of the havoc they could be wreaking, so that he was almost relieved when someone showed up to let him know they had seen the group heading for one of the storehouses—until he remembered Oropher mentioning a possible inspection of the area that afternoon. Inquiries about his father's whereabouts confirmed the worst possible scenario.

He did not see how he could get her out of this one, but he waved Eithryn over anyway—Coryn was there, as well, but he was well aware of which one always instigated the trouble.

Eithryn came over curiously, but she was not the only one who had noticed the prince, and one particularly brave dwarf loosed an apple—saved because it was a plant and therefore not considered edible—at Thranduil. Eithryn caught it easily and threw it back, striking that dwarf in the forehead, but that drew the attention of the rest of the dwarves. Thranduil yanked her outside and slammed the door as a multitude of sticky missiles flew at them.

Sky tapped her foot impatiently as he closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. Her eyes swept over the second guard, who was securely tied to a tree, just as she had left him, and to Kilvara, who had _not_ been tied beside him—or gagged—when Sky had left them. In response to Sky's raised eyebrow, Kilvara tipped her head toward Thranduil. Sky giggled, wondering how the prince had known to bring rope.

Thranduil's head snapped up. "Would you tell me where you find the humor in this situation?"

She couldn't choose just one thing, so she said, "Everywhere?"

Thranduil wanted to slap her. Why was she so impossible? He half-turned, planning to leave her to his father, but he could not quite do it, perhaps because he knew his father was running out of patience and might actually hurt her this time. For some reason his memory brought up an image from their first patrol, when she had almost been killed. It irritated him that the picture of her, bleeding and pale but still fighting his attempts to help, had stayed with him for so long, but he realized he had to at least warn her. "You have ten minutes before my father arrives," he told her.

She grinned.

"_This is not funny!_" Thranduil snapped.

Sky jerked back, startled, but she recovered quickly. "It's not?" she asked innocently.

Thranduil glared at her.

Sky realized she'd gone too far and held up her hands in surrender. "Okay, so what are we going to do? There's no way that's getting cleaned in ten minutes."

Thranduil turned his face away.

"If it helps any," she said, "I won't mention you were here."

He didn't respond, and she realized with a pang that she'd really made him angry this time. "All right," she said, "I repent. I was stupid, and I'm sorry. Really." He ignored her. "I'll tell your father it was all my fault." Nothing. "I'll take all the patrols for a month. Two months? A year? What if I promise to leave you alone for a few days?" She was getting upset now. "What do you _want_ me to do?"

"I want you to make an attempt to be helpful," he growled. Really, after _so many_ failed attempts to discipline her, it turned out that all he had to do was ignore her for a few moments and she crumbled?

"Okay," she said quickly. "Helpful. Will you forgive me now?"

He looked down at her with a frown. She put on a pleading expression and made her eyes as large as she could.

Thranduil found, much to his annoyance, that the expression did have an effect on him. "_Fine_," he groaned.

"Yay!" She was instantly cheerful again. "Now, our—my—only hope of averting disaster and getting to stay in Greenwood is to distract your father long enough for Storm and the dwarves to clean up, which they'll know to do because they're listening to us right now." On the other side of the door, Storm chuckled and the sound of dwarves clomping away could be heard. "Will you help me? Please?"

"If I must."

"Thanks. I guess you'll want to be nice to him," she said thoughtfully. "Which means no traps."

"Perhaps I could tell him he is needed elsewhere?" Thranduil suggested.

"An orc could think of something more creative than that. It would get the job done, though," she added before his scowl could return.

Thranduil let the insult pass and nodded. "I will take care of that, and you will stay here and work."

The sad look returned, but this time Thranduil was prepared for it (well, mostly). "This is your fault," he insisted, "and so _you_ will fix it."

"Exactly. I'll be more helpful if I go with you. Trust me."

"I truly do not think I ever will," he responded, but he moved aside and indicated for her to go first.

They found Oropher just in time; he was accompanied by a pair of guards and about four minutes early. At Thranduil's suggestion, Sky hid in the bushes and watched as Thranduil approached the king. "Felrion wished to see you," he said. A decent choice, Sky thought, since Felrion had recently been appointed one of the head healers. They would have to find him first and arrange a cover story, though.

Oropher nodded and kept going. Thranduil moved into his path. "He said it was urgent."

Oropher pushed him out of the way. "I will go after I examine the storehouse. It is not far. What is the matter with you?" Thranduil was still getting in his way.

Sky decided the prince needed help. "He's fine," she said, appearing out of the bushes.

"So I thought," Oropher said, thinking she meant Thranduil.

"Felrion still wants to make sure you said he could do it, though," she continued, making it up as she went.

Oropher turned around. "What?"

"Oh, he didn't believe you gave us permission to melt the swords down. I don't know why he'd making such a fuss; it's not that dangerous, even if Storm did burn his hand."

The king's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "What?!"

Sky sighed and started again. "I _said_, he didn't—"

"You MELTED THE SWORDS?!" Oropher roared.

"Storm said it was fine with you," she said, so innocently that even Thranduil almost believed her.

"It—you—" Oropher reached out like he wanted to strangle her. Then something occurred to him. "WHERE ARE THE DWARVES?!"

"Oh. Um..." She looked around. "They'll be fine by themselves, right?"

The king seemed about to lose his mind. "How were _YOU_ involved in this?" he snarled at Thranduil.

"I was only told to find you!" the prince assured him.

Now Oropher looked like he was about to cry. "Find the dwarves," he ordered Thranduil, whirling around and running—actually running!—in the direction of the armory. His guards followed, looking startled.

Thranduil rounded on Eithryn. "He will know we lied."

"Correction," she said, holding up a finger. "He will know _I_ lied. As far as he knows, you're still completely on his side."

Thranduil was not sure he liked what she was implying there.

"Anyway," she continued, "he can't prove anything, because there won't be any evidence left by the time he finally gets back to the storehouse, if he doesn't forget about it. Who knows? Maybe he'll think I was just messing with him."

"But the dwarves—"

"Were with Storm the whole time. And I'll make sure that other guard doesn't tell anyone."

Thranduil narrowed his eyes at her. "If you are wrong..."

"Then you will be perfectly justified in throwing me into a cave and leaving me there for a few weeks."

Thranduil resolved to do just that, although he did think he would make sure she had enough to eat.

Probably.

. . . . . .

They returned to discover, to Sky's amazement as well as Thranduil's, a completely spotless storehouse looking just as it had when they arrived, except that the supplies were stacked differently so that the losses would not be noticed. Storm winked at them as he placed the last bottle.

"Impressive," Sky admitted, and Thranduil had to nod.

"As it turns out," Storm observed, "dwarves are quite good at throwing breakable things."

Thranduil pretended not to hear that, instead sending an icy glare at a dwarf who had come too close.

**_I get way too much pleasure from having bad things happen to Thranduil and Oropher. :P_**

**_So up 'till now I've been working off of rough drafts I already had, with a few major changes in the storyline of each. I still have a few of those left, but I'm ready to work on something new, so the next chapter will be an entirely new, never-before-seen story. The rough-drafted ones I've decided to keep will come later, rewritten, of course. I just thought I'd mention it in case there are any obvious differences with the next one._**


	5. Rematch

**_Hi, guys. I know it's been a while, but I've been super busy- -but worry not, I have conquered the homework and the next chapter is already started._**

Thranduil stood on a platform on one side of the largest field in the forest, directing a company of soldiers through a series of increasingly difficult maneuvers. It was not an interesting task, and normally not one entrusted to him, but every few years someone needed to check that some degree of learning was occurring in the few hours dedicated to training every month. It was simple enough that he could think about other things, however, and he did not mind it so much.

At least, it was simple until _someone_ found him, as she always seemed to do when he was in the middle of something at all important.

"Hello."

Thranduil jumped despite himself as her voice came from only a few feet behind him. "Good morning," he said without turning his head, attempting to communicate that he was busy.

She ignored the hint entirely, as she ignored most such hints, and came up beside him. "They look like...like mirrors of each other," she complained with a grimace.

"That is the idea."

"Why?" she asked, sounding almost disgusted.

Thranduil regarded her curiously, then smirked as he remembered that the mere idea of conformity went against her entire way of being. "The aim, or part of it, is to intimidate the enemy," he explained, trying to phrase it so she would understand. "I know it does not seem worthwhile now, but their expressions when thousands of elves move as one will justify everything."

She looked amused. "Did you choose that argument just because of who you were talking to?"

"I am capable of learning." A problem in one of the outer lines caught his attention. "That group needs help. Do _not_ interfere with these."

Sky thought about behaving—she really did—but when Thranduil took a few of the elves a good distance away to work with them, she simply couldn't resist. She hopped down from the platform and moved among the elves, whispering instructions to them. A few resisted, but they were simply shooed off to the side. By the time Thranduil returned, she was back on the platform.

"Eithryn," Thranduil chuckled when he ascended the platform and saw the full extent of what she had done.

"I didn't interfere, I helped," she informed him. "They needed a change."

"Did they, now?" He held up his hand to get their attention. "Back in formation." The soldiers broke their star pattern to reform their lines. "You truly do make my life interesting."

She clicked her tongue. "You must really need a break. You just accidentally complimented me."

"It was an observation."

"A complimentary observation."

He faced her and folded his arms across his chest. "And what is wrong with me complimenting you?"

She put her hands on her hips playfully. "Nothing whatsoever."

Ever since the "dwarf incident", as she and her brother called it, she had been acting differently toward him. Thranduil had become concerned that she thought she had discovered a new co-conspirator in him, and had done his best to stay out of anything she was involved in. At the same time, he had grown slightly paranoid about what she would get herself into next, and he had tried to keep half an eye on her at all times. Unfortunately, whenever he tried to check on her, she would without fail make up some mischief to drag him into. She seemed to have turned it into a game, in fact.

"It _is_ nice to know I'm winning," Eithryn added, probably just to spite him.

He could hardly let her get away with _that_ assumption, either. "On the contrary, I believe _I_ am closer to victory. Indeed, I remember not one, not two, but _four_ times you have shown me respect this month."

"You're stupid," she said immediately.

"Predictable," he sighed, sounding unimpressed. "You understand, I presume, that you are supposed to be out there?" He gestured to the neat rows of soldiers.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Try it, I dare you."

He snorted, imagining himself being foolish enough to do so. "No need. My father will have you in a position of leadership any year now."

"He thinks he will," she corrected, and Thranduil couldn't argue.

"Therefore," the prince continued, "it suits him better if you practice fighting alone instead."

"Is he going to make you supervise _that_?" she scoffed. She was rather disappointed at losing an opportunity to spite the king.

The prince smirked.

"Speaking of which," Eithryn said, and Thranduil sensed a challenge, "doesn't it bother you that a mere Silvan child handles her weapons better than you do?"

Thranduil's head tilted. "A child? In mind, clearly, but in body?"

She bowed. "Nine hundred and fourteen. Older than some, maybe, but still much younger than you, I assume?"

"Indeed," Thranduil murmured, taken aback. Nine hundred did not make her a child, despite her words, but for one of her skill...

"Humbled yet?"

Thranduil lifted his chin arrogantly and folded his arms. "That was some time ago, and hardly a fair fight." He was well aware that she was baiting him, but why not let her have her way? She would get it anyway.

Eithryn matched his pose. "A rematch, then?" she suggested, doing a very bad imitation of his voice.

"In three hours, right here. No spectators."

"Very well." Then she returned to her normal stance. "See you then." She hopped off the platform and ran off through the rows of soldiers who, Thranduil now realized, had been standing still for some time, patiently waiting for further direction.

. . . . . .

Sky arrived at the field well before Thranduil, equipped with her knives (covered in cloth so the prince couldn't complain about safety) and her bow and arrows (just in case), and sat in the shade under the platform to wait.

Patience, however, had never been her greatest strength, and after a few seconds of playing with the grass she got back up and climbed onto the platform, scanning impatiently for any sign of the prince. Seeing none, she jumped back down and investigated the underside of the platform (it was boring), then trotted around the field once or twice, just in case there was anything unusual on the edge of the trees (there wasn't). Thus deprived of entertainment, she resorted to shooting insects.

Thranduil arrived exactly on time, both swords at his belt, and came into sight at what he would have thought to be a safe distance away from Eithryn had he been able to locate her before an arrow whistled past his shoulder. He cried out and hit the ground in less time than it took the fly Sky had shot at to breathe its last, and stayed there, counting to a hundred to calm himself.

Sky was there before he got to fifty. "Oh, dear, he seems to have died of fright," she observed, prodding the prince, who had his face to the ground, presumably so he wouldn't have to look at her. "You know, I always assumed touching dirt would kill you. I figured that was why you were so mad at me that time I threw mud at you, remember? When you chased me up that tree? And then when you tried to come after me I kept throwing pinecones and acorns at you? Remember that?"

Her efforts were rewarded when he lifted his head. "Yes, Eithryn, I remember. Do _you_ remember how there was hot pepper in your food the next evening?"

She bounced up and down on her heels. "I do! That was the first time I realized you had a sense of humor!"

"You are confusing humor with revenge," he informed her, noting that she seemed especially hyperactive today.

"I'm talking about how you thought it was hilarious when I drank all of Storm's water in one gulp."

The corners of his mouth twitched as he remembered hearing her howl of pain from across the eating hall. It _had_ been funny. Even Oropher had admitted that. "Are you ready?"

"I'm way past ready." She had her knives out and was spinning them in her hands.

"Good." He rose, instantly regaining his dignity, and led the way to the clearing. Or rather, he thought he was leading until he was halfway there, when he saw her vault out of the branches above him and into the open air, landing without a sound in the grass, and turn to give him a smug smile, then crouch, knives ready.

He only shrugged and drew his already cloth-covered twin swords, putting them through a series of routines that would have dazzled any other opponent.

Sky merely straightened up and regarded him with a mixture of amusement and forced patience. "I'm over here, you know."

The prince hardly seemed disappointed by her lack of awe. "For the moment. Shall—"

He'd been about to say "we", Sky assumed, but she used that moment of distraction to launch her attack—and it almost succeeded, too, but he managed to bring his swords up in time to parry. His other blade slashed down at her legs, but she hopped over it easily and darted sideways. His first sword, freed from her knife, came at her in a thrust, forcing her to knock it away instead of striking at him.

And so it went. Both were constantly right on the edge of landing a blow, but Thranduil could never quite catch her and Sky just couldn't seem to get to him quickly enough. She wasn't used to fighting opponents who were this good, with only a few exceptions, mainly Storm and Kilvara. But she never had any trouble getting to them; they couldn't reach as far, not even Storm with his shortswords.

That was the problem, Sky realized; his reach was too long. Even the one friend she had who fought with a spear (what an odd weapon!) was different; once she managed to get in close, it became almost impossible for him to strike at her without first moving away. Swords were different; they lacked the long shaft, and thus Thranduil got more opportunities to strike than she did. It hadn't been a problem in their first match because they had both been using those off-balance sticks.

That conclusion reached, she stepped back suddenly, sheathed one of her knives, and held up her hand to stop Thranduil. The prince's curious look only deepened when she held out her hand.

"I'll get my own later," she said, "but I don't have time for a trip to the armory at the moment. Give." She opened and closed her hand a few times.

There seemed to be only one thing she could mean, although Thranduil had no idea why she might possibly want his sword. Still, he flipped it around and held it out, blade first. She took it and handed him the knife in her hand, then took out her other blade and swung the two weapons through the air a few times. The sword was too heavy for her, she decided, but it would do for now. "Much better," she said, tensing to attack.

Thranduil looked down at the puny knife in his hand. "You want me to use—"

Sky charged.

. . . . . .

"So who won?" Kilvara asked.

"Oh, I did," Sky said, leaning back against the trunk of the old oak, "five of the seven times, but he complained that it wasn't fair because we switched weapons, so we're doing it again tomorrow."

Storm leaned down from the branch above them. "Tomorrow? You know, for someone who says he has piles of paperwork, he suddenly has a lot of free time. The two of you were out there all afternoon, after all."

Sky glared up at him. "And just what are you implying?"

"I'm not implying anything, my dear sister, just wondering if our prince is doing his job." Sky wouldn't have believed him even if he hadn't been wearing his trademark grin.

"Perhaps you would enjoy helping with it, if you are so concerned?" Thranduil said, coming around the base of the tree. He had a long, thin bundle in his arms, but Sky paid no attention to it.

"Hi, Prince," she greeted him. "You're getting stealthier."

Thranduil decided to simply accept the compliment. "Good evening." He frowned and looked up at Coryn. "You understand, I hope, that my question was rhetorical and not meant to be taken seriously? I do not really want you anywhere near any important documents."

"I know," Coryn assured him, but as soon as the prince looked away, he looked down at his sister and mouthed, "Rats."

But Sky was paying no attention to him. "What's that?" she asked, getting up to investigate Thranduil's bundle.

He held it away from her. "Something someone ordered from the armory, I am told."

"Well, give it to me," she commanded, reaching for it.

He held it up out of her reach, smirking. "You really must work on your patience, my young friend."

She paused for a moment to glare at him. "Later." She leapt for the bundle.

Thranduil yanked it away at the last second. "Do you really want it?"

"Yes!" She tried to pull his arm toward her, which was not very effective.

"Then come get it."

"That's what I'm trying to do, you orc-loving, king-serving—"

Storm reached down and tapped Kilvara's shoulder. "Do you think...?"

Kilvara gave him a questioning look, but then it dawned on her. "You're joking."

He grinned.

"No way," she disagreed. "Not Sky. Not him. No, no, no. Don't you start this one."

He winked at her and receded into the branches.

When Kilvara looked back at the two, though, she had to wonder. Sky had one arm gripping Thranduil's, the other arm plucking at his fingers on the bundle, one leg dangling, and the other around his waist to hold her in place. She _had_ grown up climbing trees, after all.

"Give—it—to—me!" Sky half ordered, half begged.

"You should try asking politely."

Sky froze. "Give it to me..._please_."

"I would be glad to." The prince loosened his grip.

Sky snatched the bundle and disentangled herself from him, giving him a venomous look as she returned to her spot at the bottom of the tree and began to unwrap it. She did not, however, protest when Thranduil settled himself next to her.

The hilt was revealed first; it was metal, as with Thranduil's swords, but engraved with the likeness of a falcon. Like those other swords, it lacked a cross-guard, as both elves favored mobility over protection. The blade was between Thranduil's and Coryn's swords in length, more curved than Thranduil's, but still very narrow, and undecorated except for the faint imprint of what could have been either a leaf or a feather.

Sky weighed it in her hands, testing the balance, and nodded, then sprang to her feet and went through a series of movements that even Thranduil couldn't have duplicated. The prince could not recall having ever seen her smile so big, and he liked it.

She finished her routine and held the sword up before her eyes, and for a moment she truly looked like a warrior, every inch of her. Then she let the blade swing down to her side, and she was just Sky again.

Thranduil blinked, dispelling the image, and stepped toward her. "May I?"

She tossed him the blade, and he lifted it; perfectly weighted, of course. He handed it back to her and drew his swords. Sky dropped into a crouch.

Storm jumped down beside Kilvara as the other two began to fight. "Just give it a century or two. You'll see."

Kilvara rolled her eyes. "No, Storm."


	6. Snow

Thranduil had always preferred snow over rain; rain got everywhere, soaking you to the bone, and made everything wet and muddy. Snow, on the other hand, was soft and could be cleared away, and it added a peaceful beauty to the landscape.

He liked snow somewhat less when it trapped him in his home.

He had lived in Greenwood for two hundred years now, and not once had even five feet of snow managed to settle on the ground even in the clearings, but he was sure there was at least twice that much of the stuff built up on the balcony outside his door, even though his house was two hundred feet off the ground and shielded by branches on all sides.

Perhaps he could have dug his way out; after that, his elven magic would have allowed him to easily walk on top of the snow to wherever he wanted to be. The snow was, however, rather thickly packed, and even as resistant to cold as elves were, forcing his way through hundreds of pounds of frozen water did not sound enjoyable to the prince. Therefore, he settled himself in front of the fire with a book and waited stubbornly for the snow to melt.

He did not have to wait long, as it turned out.

It started with a scraping, sliding sound, coming, unexpectedly, from the back of the house. Thranduil shook his head; he was grateful to whoever it was for trying to get him out, but they seemed to have forgotten where his door was located. He stayed where he was.

Soon the noise stopped. They had discovered their error, Thranduil assumed, and were going around to the front to try again.

"You're reading about trees? You realize you live in a forest, right?"

Most elves would have been quite startled at hearing a voice just behind them when they had assumed they were alone. For Thranduil, this had become almost an everyday occurrence. "Hello, Eithryn. Have you learned to walk through snow now?"

"No, we dug out your window. There was less snow on that side." She grinned. "You've been rescued. You're welcome."

"Thank you." He stood up and placed his book on the table. "And what, exactly, will I have to do now that I am rescued?"

"Play in the snow, of course." She looked at his robes and raised an eyebrow. "Go change into something that can get wet."

Thranduil obeyed, knowing the futility of telling her that he did not "play".

. . . . . .

Eithryn had brought her brother, Kilvara, and Felrion—her usual group—and even Felrion had been pressured out of having mercy on the prince. Therefore, Thranduil was pelted with four very well-aimed snowballs the instant he slid through his window. This was hardly unexpected, however—like Eithryn's sudden appearance behind him, it tended to happen at every opportunity—so he merely sighed and brushed the snow onto the ground. "Thank you for that." He paused. "How am I going to get down?" He did not doubt _their_ skill at navigating snow-mounded branches, but he held no illusions about his own abilities.

"There's twenty feet of snow on the ground, isn't there?" Eithryn said in a tone that implied the answer should have been obvious.

Thranduil frowned, and then it hit him. "No. Eithryn, that is a _very_ bad idea."

She grinned and inched toward the edge.

"Eithryn! Come here!" The prince looked at Coryn desperately. "Stop her!"

Coryn surprised him. "I think the Sindar might be right this time, Sky. That's quite a drop."

Eithryn glanced behind her. "Not there. There's a drift—it's got to be at least half again as deep as the rest."

"Sky," Felrion said, "you promised I wouldn't have to deal with any injuries today, and broken legs count as injuries."

Thranduil took a moment to close his eyes and remind himself that he had never seen her hurt except after a battle, so she must know what she was doing. In theory._ Please, please let her think clearly for once in her life._

Kilvara shifted her weight restlessly. "We could attach ropes or something instead..."

Eithryn turned toward her and opened her mouth to say something.

Thranduil did not waste his chance. He lunged forward, wrapping his arms around her, and dragged her away from the edge. It turned out to be far less hazardous than he had expected, as she was too stunned to fight back.

"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!" he shouted, shaking her.

Eithryn stared at him. So did the other three, but he didn't notice.

"What were you thinking?!" he repeated. "What if you had been hurt? What if you..." He shook his head, pushing away that thought. "Why do you do these things to me, you reckless, insane..." He shook her again, but more gently this time. "Must I spend every moment keeping you alive?" he asked, half laughing, half trying not to cry.

Eithryn was looking at him like he had lost his mind, and he realized sheepishly how unexpected his outburst must have been. The others had the same expressions, except for Coryn, who whispered something in Kilvara's ear, causing her to elbow him in the ribs. Thranduil would investigate that later.

"Do _not_ do that again," he told Eithryn, who gave him a slightly concerned smile.

. . . . . .

Sky watched a few minutes later as Thranduil climbed down the rope the Silvan elves had brought for him. _She_ had gotten down by way of the tree; the prince had refused to let go of her until she promised to do so.

She hadn't meant to upset him so much. She was still sure she could have jumped without being hurt, but she admitted to herself that she _had_ kind of given him reason to worry.

What was done was done. Now it was time to throw more snowballs at the prince.

. . . . . .

There was so much snow that Thranduil could not even tell where the river was supposed to be; the same was true of the streams and ponds in the forest, and of the lake on the northeastern edge. That, of course, did not stop Eithryn and her brother from finding a large patch of ice. It was in a particularly thick group of trees, where several branches crossed over the trench dug by a creek, keeping a sizable area free of snow.

Eithryn hit the ice at a run and kept her balance, spinning in several full circles and finally coming to a full stop, laughing. Kilvara did likewise, while Coryn launched himself off the snow and turned in the air so that he was moving backwards when he landed. Felrion followed and caught Coryn's arm as he passed, pulling him over.

Thranduil slid gracefully onto the ice, and Eithryn tried to copy Felrion's trick, but the prince was ready, so he managed to keep his balance and actually tried to pull _her_ over. It soon turned into a strange sort of dance with neither winning, even when Kilvara joined in on Eithryn's side and Coryn and Felrion on Thranduil's. The two she-elves were more than agile enough to make up for the other three's added strength.

. . . . . .

Thranduil was following a good distance behind the others, admiring the way the sun sparkled on the snow, when he heard a muffled thump—or maybe it was more of a _poof_. He spun around, but saw nothing but a dent in the snow. He relaxed; it must have been a clump of snow falling off the branch above him.

He looked up just in time to cry out before the mountain of snow landed on him.

. . . . . .

The prince had never built a snow fort. This had to be fixed _immediately_.

"Didn't you have a _childhood_?" Sky asked as Thranduil—his hair more white than gold now—added another lump of snow onto their wall. "I'll be speaking with your father about this."

"My father does not need to know that this is how I spent my day," Thranduil muttered.

"Why not?" Sky was beginning to think Oropher needed to experience a few snowball fights himself.

Thranduil raised an eyebrow, thinking back to a conversation he had had with his father only months before.

"_My son,_ Oropher had said, "_do not think I have not noticed how... attached you have become to her."_

_ "To whom?" Thranduil asked, perplexed. He had no idea what his father could mean._

_ Oropher frowned. "Eithryn, of course."_

_ The prince actually took a step back. His father thought he was... interested... in Eithryn? "You are mistaken," he stammered._

_ "Am I?"_

_ "Yes!" Surely his father was imagining things. He could not fall in love with Eithryn; he was just... learning to get along with her. That was all._

_ "Hmm. Well, know that I will not allow it. She is not right for you, Thranduil, and certainly not right for the kingdom."_

_ "On the contrary—" Thranduil realized what he was saying. "She can be very useful when she is cooperating," he finished weakly, staring at the floor. He did not have to look up to know that Oropher would look disappointed._

_ Actually, the king was holding back a chuckle—he remembered when _he_ had felt that way—but he worked hard to conceal his smile when his son lifted his head, because he _really_ did not want Eithryn for a daughter-in-law._

Thranduil cleared his throat. "Let us just say that he would not approve."

"That's part of the point," she informed him, but she sighed when he raised an eyebrow. "Fine. If you're so ashamed of being friends with us..." But she was smiling.

He went back to work on the wall, not even seeming to remember that he was involved in a frivolous activity.

Sky watched him thoughtfully. As silly as she sometimes—well, always—acted, she was actually very perceptive, so she was very much aware that something was going on, and, thanks to that morning's events, she even had a pretty good idea of what it was. She wasn't, however, at all sure yet what she thought about it.

Storm observed it all from the shadows, a huge grin on his face.

. . . . . .

"Well, I think I'm ready to go home," Felrion decided, trying and failing to brush all the snow clumps out of his hair, but not looking too upset about that fact. It was just starting to get dark.

"My boots are full of snow and I'm going to be black and blue tomorrow from all the snowballs that have hit me," Kilvara said. "It's been a good day."

"Home it is, then," Sky agreed. "But first, I'm going to find our Sindar friend and tell him he can show himself without having snowballs launched at his face."

"Wonderful idea, my sister," Coryn said, and he winked at the other two. "See you at our house, then."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Right. I will. And not before then. Kilvara?"

"I'll make sure he goes straight back."

Coryn held up his hands like he couldn't believe that his sister didn't trust him.

Sky made it clear to him with her expression that she was not impressed and trotted off in the general direction she assumed Thranduil had gone.

"Oh, PRINCE," she called, "SINDAR, you can come out now! We're going home! THRANDUIL!"

"Over here!"

Sky ran in the direction of Thranduil's voice and found him investigating a pile of fallen trees, many of which were huge even by Greenwood's standards.

He looked up and waved to her. "Come look at this!"

The trunk of the nearest tree, it turned out, was a few feet off the ground, creating a wide cave just high enough for an elf to squeeze into. It was dark inside.

"It looks like it leads somewhere," Thranduil noted, crouching.

"You want to go in there?" Sky asked doubtfully.

"Awakening my sense of adventure was one of your goals, was it not?" He crawled into the cave without waiting for a response.

Sky swallowed. "Why did it have to be a cave?" she murmured to a sapling, fingering its twigs nervously.

"Are you coming?" Thranduil asked, sounding like he was a good distance in. "You _are_ still there, correct?"

She knelt down in front of the trunk. "Yes, I'm here."

"Are you in a hurry to get home?" he asked, sounding confused. He was in far enough that she could barely see his face, although there was less light coming in from outside, too.

"No, I'm coming." If the prince could fit in there, so could she. She got down on her stomach and started crawling.

Almost immediately, she felt like she was being suffocated. No matter how low she got, she couldn't move without feeling the bark scraping against her back, and she was painfully aware of how little space she had above and below her—so little that she couldn't even have come close to rolling onto her side. It looked like the ceiling lowered up ahead. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, dragging herself along one inch at a time, trying to pretend she was crawling along a branch with the whole sky above her. It didn't work.

She was being crushed, and she was still forcing herself deeper into the darkness. Her chest felt tight; she could hardly breathe. She was shaking, and her muscles were tight with fear, and the ceiling was getting lower and lower; it was going to trap her. She was going to get stuck, and she wouldn't be able to get free because her arms and legs wouldn't do what she told them. They weren't even moving anymore; they were just lying on the ground, frozen. She tried to move a finger, but couldn't even make it twitch.

"Help," she gasped. Then, louder, more desperately: "Help." Then she waited, unable to move, eyes squeezed tight.

"Eithryn?" Thranduil's voice sounded far away. She was going to pass out...

"Eithryn!" He touched her hand, then her cheek, bringing her back to reality. "What is it? ...Why are you so cold?"

"Get me out of here," she choked out. "Please."

Thranduil inhaled sharply. "You are afraid of tight spaces. You should have told me."

She sobbed.

"No—" Thranduil reached over her as best he could to rub circles on her back. It was not the first time he had felt helpless because of her, but this sort of helplessness was of a kind he had felt only once before, a long time ago, and oh, how he hated it. "Eithryn..." He made himself take a deep breath. "It's all right, mellon-nin. Everything will be fine." He looked around. "There is a light ahead—I think there may be a way out. I am going to help you go that way, all right?"

"O-okay," she whispered, her voice shaking.

"Okay. Now, we need to go forward. Can you do that?"

Her arm slid forward stiffly, but then she just lay there, shivering.

Thranduil eased himself forward, then reached back, hooked his arm around her, and slid her toward him. She whimpered, but then she drew in a ragged breath and pulled herself forward a few more inches.

"Good. See? We are so much closer already. We just need to do that over and over, and then, before you know it, we will be outside again."

"R-right."

He slid forward again. "Eithryn, do you remember our first patrol? Our first battle?"

"Mmm-hmm."

He pulled her forward. "Remember how you got yourself hurt, and then you fought me when I tried to make you lie down?"

"Yes." She dragged herself almost twice as far this time.

"Why did you do that?"

She seemed to think about that, or maybe she was just concentrating on moving. "I don't know. Maybe I just like fighting."

He chuckled. "You _are_ a spitfire. Hmm."

"What?"

"Spitfire. Skyfire." He smirked, although of course she could not see him in the dark. "I do believe I have a new nickname for you."

"Oh. Great." A pause. "Are we close yet?"

"We are about halfway there, I think. This is not so bad, is it?"

"Speak for yourself, warg-face."

"See? You even have your sense of humor."

"Mmm."

He had to keep talking to her... "You used to be the most frustrating thing in my life, you know."

She paused to take a few breaths and then started again. She was moving more than half the distance by herself now. "What changed?"

"Nothing. You still complicate every aspect of my existence. It appears, though, that I have learned to accept that."

"So you admit that you are better off with a sense of humor?"

"I would call it an acceptance that some things in life cannot be controlled. And that you are rather amusing. Ah, here we go."

Eithryn's eyes blinked open and then she shot out into the light so quickly that Thranduil wondered for a second if she had teleported.

An instant later, though, she stiffened. "We're going to have to go back through," she whispered.

Thranduil pulled himself out from under the tree, and his mouth fell open. Instead of the outside world, they had emerged into a new chamber—one beyond the boundaries of anything he had ever experienced.

The skeleton of the chamber was of wood—the trunks, branches, and roots of the other trees in the pile, which Thranduil had quite forgotten about—it appeared that they went up for many feet above the "ceiling", and the empty space itself was quite large on all sides. The gaps between the wood were filled mostly by snow, but the sunlight was let in through small holes here and there—all of them either too small for elves to go through or blocked higher up. The light was the weak golden light of dusk, but it sparkled off the snow on every side, so that the whole place seemed to glow, with brighter dots of light where the sun hit the ground directly.

Eithryn did not seem to appreciate the beauty; she was looking at Thranduil with an expression of horror, and all the blood had drained from her face. He had a sudden urge to give her a hug, but he was unsure of how she would feel about that, so he just suggested that they rest for a while before they went back through. She nodded shakily and sat down on the thin carpet of snow that had gotten through the branches. The prince joined her.

She really was quite beautiful, Thranduil found himself thinking, especially with the golden light shining off her skin like that. It made her hair look like it was on fire. He wondered if that was what she was named for.

And her eyes... they seemed to glow. _Their_ color was not changed the slightest bit by the light.

Those eyes widened a little when she caught him staring. Thranduil looked away quickly, wondering why his face suddenly felt hot.

This was ridiculous. His father was right. She was difficult and reckless and... and brave and clever and very _good_, in her own way. But she was definitely _not_ princess material.

He looked over at her again and was relieved to find that she was more relaxed now, even smiling a little. She was strong, that one. He wondered what all she had been through in her short life. That reminded him of something he had meant to ask her for some years now, but the time had never been right.

"Eithryn?" he asked softly.

"Yes?"

"What happened to your parents?"

He expected to have to coax her into telling him about it, but she just shrugged. "Orcs attacked just before I was born. They killed my father, and my mother died a day later."

"Of grief?" the prince asked, flinching at the thought of what the poor elleth must have suffered.

"No, she was hurt. I'm told it was a miracle she made it long enough to give birth." She saw his look of horror and shrugged. "Orcs feel no mercy."

"I am so sorry," he whispered.

She smiled sadly. "I never knew them, so there's not much to miss. And anyway, I had Storm to look after me."

He laughed despite the grimness of the topic. "Is that what happened to you?"

"That's probably it. He was only two hundred at the time, you know."

"Oh." Thranduil felt a new respect for Coryn, and a new sympathy. Raising a child when he was two hundred... that _did_ explain Eithryn.

"You lost your mother, didn't you?" she asked quietly.

He closed his eyes. "She died a very long time ago."

"Orcs?"

"What else?"

They sat together in silence until the light began to dim.

"We should go back," Eithryn said finally.

Thranduil nodded and stood. They eyed the tunnel together.

"I will be right beside you the whole time," Thranduil promised her.

"I know." She took a deep breath. "Let's go, then."

They crawled into the tunnel together.

. . . . . .

"Here we are," Thranduil said as they climbed up onto the front porch of Sky's house by way of a branch—many of the Silvan elves' houses had no stairs, or even ladders.

Sky nodded and opened the door.

"Eithryn?"

She looked back expectantly. She looked better now, with her face back to its normal color.

In truth, Thranduil had only said her name to—if he was being perfectly honest with himself—keep her there for a few more moments. He scrambled for something to say. "I cannot remember—did you leave the rope up?"

Sky had not missed how he had hesitated before speaking. "Yes, you'll be able to get back into your house." What in the world was she going to do about this? She liked him, but... she really needed to think. "Good night, Thranduil."

He gave up. "Good night."

And she was gone.

What a day it had been, Thranduil thought. He'd expected to be stuck inside; instead, he'd spent the day with a hyperactive Silvan elf who had dragged him through half the forest, targeted him with countless snowballs, and forced him to make a snow fort. And it had been wonderful.

He hated it when his father was right.


	7. Gil-Galad

**_Bad news- -this one's short, and THRANDUIL ISN'T IN IT! I know- -blasphemy, right? At least now I can start work on the next one, which WILL include him._**

The waves shone like jewels in the light of the setting sun as Eithryn walked along the docks. She knew that the sight should awaken something in her, a sea-longing, they called it, but she had seen the ocean several times, and while she was sure she would enjoy sailing on it, she felt no particular compulsion to do so. She wasn't sure if that was normal for Silvan elves, or if she was just unique. She made a mental note to ask Storm how he felt about it sometime.

The elf she was looking for tonight had sailed many times, and for various reasons, but he still came here often to look at the water. Usually to the twelfth dock, the one that went out farthest...

Ah, there he was. He was staring off at the sunset with a distracted look on his face, his long, dark hair unbraided and being tossed by the breeze.

She ran over to him. "Hey, Gil!"

The High King of the Noldor turned his head, not looking startled at all, only glad to see her. "Skyfire! It's been too long." He held out his arms, and she ran into them. He squeezed her for a moment, then let go and stepped back. "New sword," he noted. "You are braiding your hair differently—I like it—but I would never know from looking at you that anything had changed. How is the new kingdom? I expect you have taught them a few things?" He winked.

She groaned. "I've had my hands full. They've been trying to turn us into miniature tree—dwelling versions of themselves. Well, the king is, anyway."

"I believe it," he said, shaking his head. "I remember Oropher. Is his son any different? Thranduil, am I right?"

"That's his name, yes." She grinned. "He's arrogant and stubborn, just like his father. Always worrying about rules and rank, and he hates dwarves. He'd make an awful king."

Gil-Galad grinned. "You like him, though," he accused.

Yes, she liked him. The problem was, she wasn't sure how _much_ she liked him... which was why she'd decided to take off and not come back until she'd figured out what she was going to do about him, which could take a while. Ack, why did she feel so unhappy about that? She disguised her grimace with more joking. "Are you mad? I can't _stand_ him! He thinks he's the center of the universe!"

"I must meet this prince."

"Why, just the other day I told him I was coming here, and a few minutes later he handed me a paper that said that I in no way represented the elves of Greenwood, and that he and his father were sorry they had to send me here, but they just couldn't stand me anymore, and they hoped you wouldn't start a war over this. I was supposed to give it to you."

Gil-Galad was laughing so hard she was afraid he would fall into the sea. "And what—what did you do with it instead?"

"I said I'd give you the message and threw the paper in the river. It wasn't my best comeback."

"It got the idea across."

"And then he laughed at me, can you believe it?"

Gil-Galad snickered a few times before regaining control of himself. "Ah, Sky," he sighed, "I really did miss you. You've come at a good time, though—I need your advice, old friend." He took something out of his pocket—a ring, golden and set with a sapphire.

"I won't be old for at least ten times what I've lived so far, but if you want it, you have it," she promised, putting a hand on his shoulder. "This is Vilya?"

"The Ring of Air," he confirmed, holding it out.

Sky took it and examined it for a moment, turning it around in her hands and even putting it on for a moment before handing it back to him. "It doesn't feel evil."

"No," he agreed. "It is not, although I can sense Him through it."

"He'll have a hard time doing anything to you with it, I'd imagine. I'd say keep it, if that's what you're asking. You could do good things with it."

He nodded. "That was the conclusion I reached." He looked out at the water again, though the sun had long since set. "Do you ever wonder what it is like to be mortal?"

"All the time." She paused. "I think everything would seem so much more urgent. And... I think, honestly, that I'd be a lot more careful what I did, since I wouldn't just end up in Valinor if something happened to me."

He burst out laughing again. "I had never imagined you in Valinor before," he explained in response to her bemused look. "So much for its reputed peace!"

She grinned. "Do you think they might let me come back here if I annoy them enough?"

"With you, my friend, I do believe anything is possible. Come, I have more questions for you." He led her away from the water.

"What's been making you wonder about mortals?" Sky inquired as they walked.

"Oh, my dealings with the humans. They are so much like us, and yet sometimes I wonder what goes through their heads. A decade ago, for instance..."

That was what Oropher needed, Sky decided—an openness and a curiosity for the ways and the thoughts of others. That was what made Gil-Galad such a great king. The only king, in fact, who would not have had to put up with her—ahem—"lessons" were he ruler of Greenwood.

She would have to invite him to visit sometime.


	8. The Shiny Rock--Part 1

**_Look at me, getting these done so fast. Granted, I copied most of this over from my rough draft. Sometimes things turn out perfect the first time._**

"Eithryn?"

"Hey, prince," Sky said sleepily. She and her brother had been lying in the shade under a tree, but she opened her eyes when she heard Thranduil's voice.

"I thought I would find you causing trouble somewhere," he teased.

"It's too hot." She sat up, suddenly interested—he looked nervous. "What is it?"

He shifted back slightly. "I... thought you might like to be filled in on recent events."

"Has something happened?" She looked at Storm, who shrugged—and then he, too, caught sight of Thranduil's face, and he sat up with an alarming grin.

"You were gone for several years."

She sensed an excuse. "True. All right, go ahead."

Sure enough, he hesitated and then said, "I thought we might take a walk."

"Good idea," Storm said, getting up.

"Coryn..." Thranduil began.

Storm waited.

"Could we...?" the prince almost begged.

Storm's eyes went wide. "Oh! Of course. Sky, I can't come because... I have to, um, feed the squirrels." He winked—very obviously—at Thranduil. Sky twitched uncomfortably. The Silvan elves had a saying, which went something like this: "If Storm finds out what's going on between you two, I'll help you kill him." It was typically uttered by those who had, at some time, been the target of Storm's teasing, justified or not.

She'd _told_ Storm there was nothing happening with them... she didn't care if it wasn't entirely true; she was his _sister_. His sister who was his equal in a fight, and more than that when she was angry.

On a happier note, she had never seen the prince's face so red. Annoying brother or not, this was quite interesting. "Shall we, then?"

"Yes..." Thranduil gave Storm a threatening look—hadn't he realized by now that that didn't work on them?—and led her into the forest.

They walked for a long time in silence, and Sky showed the prince tremendous respect by actually walking beside him in a straight line throughout that time, and not entirely because of how hot it was. He was more relaxed now, whereas she was working hard to hide her impatience. She suspected she knew what was going on...

Just when she thought she'd burst from the suspense, he looked over and said, "I was beginning to believe you would never come back."

"I was only gone for four years." She'd planned to stay away longer, until she made a certain important decision, but... well, she'd missed her friends—one more than the others. Thus had her feelings made the decision for her. She was a little annoyed at them for that.

"Yes..." He smiled. "I never said my fears were reasonable."

Sky remembered his reaction when she had gotten back the day before—how his face had instantly lit up, his smile wider than she'd ever seen it, and how he'd come over immediately, breaking off his conversation with his father mid-word. Oropher, on the other hand, had given her a dirty look—_he_ probably would have been happy enough if she'd stayed away forever. Storm, when he'd seen Thranduil's reaction, had gotten an expression that made Sky pull him into a closet and threaten to hurt him if he did anything. He'd taken, it seemed, to terrorizing Thranduil even more lately; the prince, for his part, did not seem to have grown any closer to Storm while she was gone. Some things would never change. "Surely you don't mean to say you missed me."

He chuckled. "Surely not. You are the bane of my existence; I want nothing more than to be free of you."

"Right. I'm clearly hallucinating. I blame that troll that bashed me in the head the other day."

He stopped. "What?"

"I didn't duck in time and its club clipped me. It's all right, I only passed out once. Um, what are you doing?" He was examining her head as if he thought there might still be a bump. "That was a while ago..." Was it her imagination, or was he leaning in closer than he needed to? "Prince!"

He stepped back, looking amused. "Why does it bother you when someone is concerned for your welfare?"

"In this case, it's because it's unnecessary. If I'd been hurt that badly, I would have died, and that would have been that, but I _didn't_, and, thus, either I'm fine or I will be soon. And I have felt fine for a while now."

Thranduil decided they would have to have a talk about her apparent disregard for her own safety, but not now. "Eithryn?" he asked hesitantly.

"If I'm not, that troll must have hit me harder than I thought."

He rolled his eyes. "Hold out your hand."

Sky did so. He took it and pressed something into it—something small and hard, but—uh-oh. She looked down, and sure enough, it was a gem. An emerald, about an inch wide. She looked at Thranduil.

"Do you like it?" he asked uncertainly.

She held it up to the light. "The color's nice." She didn't know much about emeralds, but she did know that a green with so much yellow in it was rare.

"It matches your eyes."

Now _she_ was the one blushing. "It's a rock. A shiny rock, but still a rock."

He saw right through her. "You like it." He sounded relieved.

She shrugged. "It's all right." She hadn't expected _this_... although, it _was_ pretty.

He laughed. "Always so difficult."

"I'm difficult, you're obsessed with shiny rocks. Which is worse?" All right, so she did like it. That didn't mean it wasn't silly, though.

. . . . . .

Storm was waiting for her when she returned to the tree. "What happened?"

She shoved him over into the grass. "Like I'm going to tell you."

He laughed. "What's that in your hand?"

She hid it behind her back.

Storm's head tilted to the side. "Did he...?" Well, he knew she wasn't about to show him voluntarily. He lunged. Sky thrashed and kicked, but he was stronger, and he eventually pinned her down and forced her hand open. He whistled softly. "Look at that. My sister's going to be a—" He ended with an "Oof!" as Sky's foot slammed into his stomach.

"Don't say it," she snarled. "Don't say the word."

"...princess. Ouch!" He collapsed into the grass, felled by a second blow. "Thanks for the bruises, sis."

"You deserved worse. Just because _he's_ clearly interested in _me_ doesn't mean I'm going to _marry_ him."

His snickering was only slightly diminished by the two aching spots on his stomach. "Oh, it's only a matter of time. Our friends are going to be _very_ interested to hear about this, aren't they?"

Sky made a growling sound in the back of her throat.

**_Get used to it, Sky. The worst is yet to come._**


	9. The Shiny Rock--Part 2

**_Since people keep pronouncing my character's names wrong:_**

**_Eithryn: Ey (as in "hey") th (as in "the") rin (as in "grin")_**

**_Coryn: As if it was spelled "Corin"_**

**_Kilvara: Kill (as in "kill the orcs") var (like "far" with a v) ah (as in "aha!")_**

**_Felrion: Fell (as in "Aragorn fell of the cliff") ree (as in "free") on (as in "Thranduil, why is that Silvan elf on my roof again?")_**

**_Actually, Eithryn's name is the only one I've heard pronounced wrong, but now you can have the peace of mind that comes from knowing that the characters won't get mad at you for saying their names incorrectly._**

"I tell you, she's in denial," Storm said, leaning over a stack of drawings. "Why don't we put a window here, so the guards can see messengers coming from inside the forest?" Thranduil had—without consulting Oropher—asked Storm, Sky, and Kilvara to go over the blueprints for the new guard tower. "Look at her right wrist."

Sky pulled her sleeve down, but not quickly enough.

"Did I just see what I think I saw?" Kilvara asked.

"You did," Storm confirmed. "Show her, Sky." When his sister didn't respond—other than to glare at him—he went over and, with some difficulty, forced her sleeve back up her arm.

"Look at that," Kilvara breathed. "An emerald." She leaned over the table in front of Sky. "You know, I was _sure_ Storm was making this up, but..." She was fighting to hold back her laughter. "You—you had it put into a bracelet! I can't believe..." She covered her mouth as she shook with silent laughter.

"They _do_ make a strange pair, don't they?" Storm mused.

Sky spoke at last. "You know what I think? I think you're making a mountain out of a molehill."

"That's quite a molehill," Kilvara said, her voice strained from the effort of containing her mirth.

Sky groaned and pulled the hood of her cloak over her head.

"Aw, come on, Sky, it's nothing to be ashamed of," Storm teased. "So you're in love with a prince who we both agree shouldn't be one. It's no big deal."

Sky didn't think Thranduil didn't deserve to be the prince; she only thought that about his father. Or rather, as she'd already admitted to herself, she liked having Thranduil around, and that kind of meant letting him keep his kingdom. "Shut up, Storm."

"Oh, wait, but you _love_ him, so maybe you don't think that way anymore." Curse him. He was too perceptive. "You probably think he's _perfect_."

"Shut _up_, Storm. And I do NOT."

"Riiiiight."

Kilvara joined in. "Why _does_ it bother you so much, Sky? He's not all that bad... although I'm not sure what you see in him."

"Thanks, Kilvara. Thanks."

Her brother wasn't done. "Does Princey know how you feel about him? Ooh, has he seen your bracelet yet?"

She would not punch her brother, she would not punch her brother... "Please do not ever call him that again."

"Has he, though? Should I tell him?"

In the blink of an eye, she grabbed the front of his cloak and pulled him so that their eyes were inches apart. "If you say a _word_ to him, I will destroy everything that you love. I will melt your swords. I will _burn_ your bow and snap every one of your arrows. Do. You. Understand?" She let go.

The grin hadn't left his face during the whole conversation. She feared it never would.

"She's so cute, isn't she?" Storm asked Kilvara as Sky stomped outside.

. . . . . .

"Don't ask," Sky told Thranduil when she unexpectedly showed up where he was drilling some of the soldiers.

He nodded and smiled, and she smiled back, telling herself she was allowed to do that. Elves smiled at each other all the time; it didn't mean anything. No, she didn't believe that, but the alternative was admitting Storm was right.

She wandered around for a while, watching and giving tips and hiding her bracelet every time someone looked at her, especially Thranduil. He, in fact, seemed to be doing that a lot lately.

Eventually they finished, and Thranduil started to leave. She followed, and he looked back.

"Mind if I tag along?" she asked sheepishly.

He raised an eyebrow. "To my meeting?"

"...yes."

He was taken aback, but nodded. "As long as my father does not mind."

The meeting was on strategies for defense against the orc bands that were becoming more and more common in Greenwood—something that was actually within Sky's area of expertise. Oropher, who had only _barely_ let her in at his son's request, was shocked when she started giving non-sarcastic suggestions and pointing at places on the map.

After that there was another meeting, which was quite boring, but since they weren't going to let her brother in if he came looking for her...

They were still asking for her opinion, oddly enough. She answered their questions obediently, trying to resist looking out the window to see if Storm was watching. She found herself keeping her eyes on Thranduil so that they wouldn't seek her brother; he, in turn, kept looking at her, which caused many awkward moments where they both looked at each other at the same time, then quickly redirected their eyes to whoever was speaking. Sky mentally kicked herself every time she promised herself she wouldn't do it again, then did anyway.

_Finally_ it was over, and Sky tried to make for the other side of the river, but Thranduil caught her trying to get away. "And where do you think you are going?" he inquired as he cut off her escape route.

Her attempt had already been halfhearted; if Storm was looking for her, he was going to find her no matter where she was, so she might as well be in a predictable place. "To lunch," she said meekly. Well, meekly for her. "At the feast hall, because you won't let me go home."

"Exactly." He put a hand on her shoulder to make sure she went in the right direction, and apparently forgot to remove it; Sky wondered what Storm would say if he saw that. She really hoped he wasn't watching them... and if he was, she really, really hoped he couldn't see her face, because she kind of liked it. "Now, explain."

What did he think she'd done this time? For once, she wasn't guilty. "What?"

He frowned. "'What?' You have not been yourself today."

Oh. Wait. What? Hmm, he was right. "Are you objecting to the fact that I haven't made fun of you today?"

Apparently he hadn't thought of it that way. "I suppose I am."

"Well... you haven't given me many opportunities."

"That has hardly stopped you before."

He was right; she really had failed. "All right..." For some reason, she suddenly remembered that his hand was still on her shoulder, and it gave her a strange feeling. "You know, I think this is your fault."

"And why is that?"

"I've used all my insults on you already. I'm out. Maybe if you give me a while, I'll think of some new ones."

He smirked. "_There_ is the Eithryn I know." He smiled at her, and she got that funny feeling again.

She needed to continue the conversation before one of them did something stupid. "Why don't you call me Sky?"

"Would you rather I did?"

"It's what everyone else calls me." Funny; she'd used to wish that he would call her by her nickname, but now... it just seemed more Thranduil-ish this way. She'd gotten used to it.

He thought about that. "No," he decided finally. "I think I prefer your full name. After all, why should I wish to be like everyone else?" He sounded like he was speaking more to himself than to her.

"I've never found blending in to be worth it," she agreed.

"No, I do not imagine you did." There was a smile in his eyes. "I like that about you."

"I knew there had to be something, what with the way you've been recently." She indicated the arm that was now more comfortably around her.

He started to remove it, but changed his mind. "Does that bother you?" he asked, half-teasingly.

"I haven't slapped you yet," she observed.

He found that quite funny. "No, you have not. Thank you."

"Even though you probably deserve it. Do you usually go around touching everyone like this?"

"Would you be jealous if I did?"

That sounded like something she didn't want her brother hearing the answer to. She eyed the trees warily. "Would you be jealous if I let everyone put their arm around my shoulders?"

"Perhaps. What are you looking at?"

"Nothing." Um. "So, what did you do while I was gone? Sat around missing me, I expect."

Thranduil smiled. She had no idea. "What else could I do, when I had no trouble to get us out of?"

She grinned, and he did not miss how she glanced at the trees again.

"I would go to the edge of the forest, under the pretense of a... greatly extended patrol, to look for you," he said. "I should have known you would return the week my father summoned me back."

Sky wasn't sure she wanted to know exactly how much time he'd spent out there. "Sorry. Didn't your father get suspicious?"

"I think," he said slowly, "my father was suspicious before you left. But it would seem I have learned a few things from you about avoiding his servants."

"Not enough, clearly, if they caught you."

"By the time my father became angry enough to come find me himself, I had thought of something I wanted to do, so I had to return anyway. I had realized that I had something to say to you, and so I decided to give you a gift."

The emerald. She unconsciously glanced down at her wrist.

Unfortunately, Thranduil was more observant than she often gave him credit for, or maybe he was paying more attention to her than he had back when she'd done things like hide his book in a tree (When had that been? Ah, yes—yesterday). "Is that a bracelet?" he asked curiously.

"Yes." That was the only safe thing she could think of to say.

Thranduil waited, but she didn't continue. "May I see it?"

"No."

She almost heard something go "click" in his brain—he knew something was up. What, the mere fact that she was wearing jewelry didn't tip him off? "And why not?"

"Because it's embarrassing." He lunged for her arm. "Hey!"

She should have been able to escape, but Thranduil was quite strong, and he already had his arm around her. Also, she could fight like a dragon when cornered, but only when she was willing to hurt her attacker.

His eyes widened when she finally gave up and he was able to get a closer look at her bracelet. Sky avoided his gaze when he looked at her. She had never been this embarrassed in her life.

The prince had probably never been this thrilled in his life. Even without looking at him, she could feel it. He practically glowed.

"I do not know what to say," he breathed. "Eithryn..."

She utterly failed to think of a way to salvage her dignity.

He touched her cheek then, and she didn't even flinch. Ugh. Storm didn't have to be watching; he'd know what had happened as soon as he saw them. Maybe she should follow through with her previous plan—hide somewhere on the other side of the forest for the next century.

Problem was, Oropher might kill her if Thranduil spent that long looking for her instead of fulfilling his princely duties.

. . . . . .

Sky peeked through the window, then jerked back. Her worst fears were confirmed.

Thranduil stood with one hand on the doorway, pondering her behavior.

"Don't let them see you!" she hissed, crouching.

He decided to humor her and crouched down on the other side of the doorway. "Whom are we hiding from?" he inquired in a whisper.

"My brother, mostly," she answered, trying to decide what she should try to convince Thranduil of—that they should go in separately, or that they should find somewhere else to eat.

"Why? Not that I mind..." It was strange, she thought, that he'd adjusted to her and not Storm. Perhaps it was because she was female?

"Same reason I've been avoiding him all day," she answered, tapping her bracelet. "He saw this."

"Now you know what I have been going through for so long," he said without a trace of sympathy—although he did smile when he looked at the bracelet.

"I can usually take a joke," she sighed—and it was true, because sometimes she and Storm had no one to play tricks on but each other—"but this is going too far. I don't even know why I'm wearing this thing. It's just a rock. A polished piece of mineral. A shiny roundish thingy." She had stood up by now and was pacing back and forth—carefully staying out of sight of everyone inside.

"A beautiful shiny roundish... thingy," Thranduil pointed out. She glared at him. "Did I interrupt your rant, Spitfire? My apologies."

"No sarcasm." She sat down. "My point is... how did you put up with us for all these years?"

He smirked. "Do you remember what I told you in the cave?"

"That I'm amusing?"

"And that I gave up trying to control you. I knew you meant nothing by your antics, after all."

That was the difference between him and his father; Oropher took _everything_ too personally. The elves who thought she was risking her life by insulting Thranduil should have seen Oropher's face the times she'd told him to go kiss an orc. "Storm doesn't mean anything by it, either; we both know I'll find it funny someday. But that doesn't mean I don't want to grab him and..." She made a throttling gesture.

Thranduil nodded like strangling one's brother was a perfectly reasonable thing to do, which it probably was from his perspective, and with her brother.

What _really_ didn't make sense was that Thranduil had chosen to get along with the more volatile sibling. Storm teased, but he didn't directly insult people or sabotage the king's plans, not when she wasn't around to start anything.

It was probably due to a combination of her gender and Thranduil's realization that she was entertaining, which was a direct result of her more extreme personality. Oh, well; at least it meant he was on her side for the moment.

Thranduil's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Are we going in, or did you plan to stay here all day?"

"You can go. I'll be fine; you know I skip half my meals anyway." So did Storm; it had been a fifty-fifty chance for him to even eat this meal, much less here. Had he known the prince would bring her here?

Thranduil shook his head. "That cannot be healthy. You _will_ eat."

"No, I won't."

He came over and put his arm around her again. "Yes, you will."

She gave him a death glare.

"You will have to get used to this, my love."

His use of _that word_ stunned her just long enough for him to yank her through the doorway, but she came back to her senses in time to pull away before anyone saw them.

Oh, no, now she'd hurt his feelings. She pointed to Storm, who hadn't seen them yet, to justify her actions.

He smirked knowingly and held out his hand. She looked at it, not understanding, and when he didn't move, she poked his palm, because the way she was raised, that was what one did with things of which one did not know the purpose.

He was laughing when she looked up, and he took her hand and placed it in his. It was very warm, and she looked at Storm again, unsure if she wanted to pull free or not.

"Ignore him," Thranduil whispered in her ear, and he led her forward.

They drew a lot of looks, some curious, some open stares. When Kilvara saw them, she choked on her wine and reached over without looking to get Storm's attention, accidentally slapping him in the face and making him jerk back in surprise. He started to ask why she was attacking him, but she just shook her head and pointed at the two newcomers.

Sky tried and failed to hide behind Thranduil.

Storm's eyes met hers, and she felt her blood rushing to her cheeks. Her brother was just as surprised as Kilvara, but the shock wore off quickly, and he started to laugh uncontrollably.

Thranduil looked at Sky as Storm laughed so hard he cried and finally fell out of his chair, and then the prince pulled, or rather dragged, her toward them again.

"It's not that funny," she snapped down at her brother. He'd been starting to recover by that point, but that made him hysterical again.

Kilvara was also failing to contain her amusement. "Do"—she snorted—"do join us."

Sky flopped down in a chair, pulled her hood up, and tried very hard to hide from the fifty-ish elves who were now staring at this new spectacle.

Thranduil sat beside her. "My apologies; I did not know it was this bad."

"I should have slapped you," she grumbled.

She could hear the smirk in his voice when he stood and asked, "Shall I go get our food?"

"Ack! Don't leave me!" She bounded out of her chair and grabbed his wrist. There was no way she was staying with them alone.

He chuckled and stroked her hair calmingly. "Oh, Eithryn."

Storm had finally made it back into his chair, but when Sky let Thranduil take her hand again, it was too much for him and he fell back to the floor.

**_Hand-holding! Gasp! What am I putting in my stories?!_**

**_Ok, so that was my last rough-drafted one, which was why I got it done so fast. Now I not only have to write chapters from scratch, I also have to decide what I want to write about in the first place. Therefore, I'd like to say that if anyone has anything they'd like to see in a chapter, I'm open to ideas. No promises that I'll use your suggestion, of course, and if I do I might change it, but, that being said, feel free to suggest anything you think of, especially if it's funny :)_**


	10. Forbidden

**_We begin with another "Poor Oropher" scene..._**

"My lord?"

Oropher looked from the report he was reading to the blond elf standing in the doorway. "Did you find her, Taensirion?"

In response, the other Sindar moved out of the way, and Eithryn stepped into the king's study. "She came willingly," Taensirion noted with a trace of humor.

"Thank you, my friend," Oropher said, waving his hand to dismiss him.

Sky looked around the room, noticing a high percentage of breakable things. Then she turned to Oropher with a glint in her eye. "Oh greatest, most powerful, and wisest of kings—" she began with a bow.

Oropher groaned.

"—may I ask that you grant me permission to inquire as to why you have most wisely risked the lives of your guards to summon me?"

He reminded himself that many of his subjects would be angry if he imprisoned her, not to mention... "I would like to speak with you about my son."

"You have a son?" Eithryn asked, feigning surprise.

"You know very well who my son is, Eithryn. Please do not touch that." He was trying to imitate the way Thranduil spoke to her sometimes, because that was at least slightly effective on occasion.

Sky hastily put down the glass whatever-it-was she was holding—too hastily for Oropher's liking, according to his expression. "No, I—wait, is Taensirion your son?"

"No, he is not." Oropher took a piece of paper from his stack and began quietly mangling it. That helped a little.

"Hmm. Is Felrion—wait. He's Silvan." She picked up another breakable thing, then gasped. "Or is he?"

Ripping the paper was no longer helping. Oropher's hands clenched on his desk. "Enough, Eithryn."

"Oh, I know. It's the prince, isn't it? What's his name—Thrandy-will?"

Oropher put his head in his hands.

"Hold on. You're the king, and your son's the prince? That's quite a coincidence." She tossed the breakable thing into the air and caught it. "Have you been abusing your power, Oropher?"

He was not dealing with this for as long as it would take for her to finish. "My son has been spending a lot of time with you, Eithryn."

Sky picked up three more breakable things and started juggling them.

"No matter how—" He had to look away. "No matter how my son feels," he continued, expecting at every moment to hear a crash, "his first priority must be to his kingdom, and—"

"Oropher?"

He could not hear her, he could not hear her... "—and therefore, he must choose—"

"You have a lot of wine in here."

"—a wife who will make a proper—"

"And a lot of candles."

Oropher looked up.

. . . . . .

Thranduil froze in mid-step as Eithryn burst out of his father's study, Oropher right on her heels. The two guards by the door jumped noticeably.

"NEVER THREATEN TO BLOW UP MY OFFICE AGAIN!" Oropher roared.

Eithryn spotted the prince and inched toward him. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You come here, you..." Oropher stalked forward menacingly.

Thranduil quickly stepped in front of the she-elf. "Eithryn, what have you done this time?"

"I was just looking at his wine bottles," she said innocently.

Oropher shook his fist at Thranduil. "The trouble you are causing me..." He got a thoughtful look suddenly. "But I _am_ the king, am I not?"

"If you're not sure, you probably shouldn't be," Eithryn observed.

Thranduil turned to her. "You are _so_ helpful."

Oropher didn't seem to have heard either of them. "I did not want it to come to this," he told Thranduil apologetically. "Come."

Thranduil and Eithryn exchanged a look, and then the prince went over to his father.

"As I have already informed Eithryn, your relationship has the potential to harm the kingdom," Oropher explained. "Thus, I forbid the two of you from seeing or speaking to each other until further notice. Into my office, Thranduil."

The prince's mouth fell open. "You cannot—"

"I think you will find that I can."

The prince started to protest, but his father shoved him inside with some help from the guards.

Sky was left alone in the corridor.

. . . . . .

Thranduil did not feel like getting out of bed the next morning. Oropher had kept him busy for all of the day before, reminding him when he finally walked him home of the consequences if anyone saw him with Eithryn. He had even left Taensirion, one of his closest friends and advisors, to keep an eye on Thranduil. The prince was beginning to feel like a misbehaving elfling who had been put in time-out.

He finally got up when Taensirion knocked on his door some time after sunrise, and reluctantly got dressed and went out to see what he was going to have to do today.

Taensirion waited in the hallway. "Someone is here to see you," he said, gesturing toward the front door.

Thranduil sighed heavily. "Thank you, Taensirion." He trudged in that direction, the other Sindar following close behind, and paused for a moment before opening the door to erase the frown from his face, just in case whoever was there was not his father.

It definitely was not his father, unless Oropher was disguised as a mildly annoyed copper-haired Silvan she-elf. "It's about time," Eithryn said. "Thanks, Taen."

Thranduil turned to his father's friend, and Taensirion shrugged. "Oropher is my king, but I think he is wrong this time. Just remember that if you get caught, I will be punished as well." He walked past them to stand at the top of the stairs, winking at Eithryn as he passed.

Thranduil was impressed. It seemed Eithryn could accomplish anything if she put her mind to it, including getting one of Oropher's most loyal followers to turn a blind eye. His energy returned as he realized that he just might get to spend the day with her after all. "Would you like breakfast?" he offered.

"Sure."

He raised an eyebrow—that was a first. "Do I want to know how long it has been since you last ate?" he asked as he led her inside.

She grinned and took his hand. "No."

. . . . . .

"I should probably do some work," Thranduil sighed as they—well, he—finished breakfast. Even when Eithryn ate, it was only about half what Thranduil did. The prince had to wonder where she got her unbelievable amounts of energy. Maybe she photosynthesized.

Eithryn looked offended. "Why?"

"Because otherwise my father might become suspicious."

"Oh." She made a face. "Well, if you must."

Thranduil thought about it and shook his head. "I would rather spend time with you."

"Are those mutually exclusive?" she asked, trying to balance a spoon on the rim of her cup.

Thranduil could not tell if she was serious or not. "They are if I wish to make any progress in my work."

"I can be quiet."

Thranduil highly doubted that. "You will also need to hold still."

"Right. Still." She folded her hands in her lap and froze.

Thranduil waited.

She lasted about fifteen seconds before she sprang out of the chair and grabbed her cup, squeezing it as if she badly needed to touch something. Thranduil was actually rather impressed with how long she had gone.

"Okay, so I can't hold _that_ still," she admitted, "but I'll hold still-ish. And I'll be quiet."

"Ish," Thranduil added.

"Ish," she agreed, still playing with the cup.

Thranduil decided he might as well try it. "All right. Would you put the dishes by the sink?"

She started stacking them. "I could wash them, too, if you want."

Thranduil, observing that she was trying to carry all the dishes at once—knives included—said, "No, I will do that later." He disliked washing dishes—he would not do it at all if he had a butler—but he was sure that she would find some way to make it dangerous. He went to get his paperwork.

Sky took the dishes to the sink, then went over to the bookshelf, determined to find something quiet to do. She chose a book that was written in Quenya, and another about the history of the human kingdoms, and settled herself on the couch just as Thranduil returned. He did have quite a stack of work, she observed.

Thranduil glanced at her chosen source of entertainment. "Do you read Quenya?" he asked. He had not known she could read at all, as they had quickly given up trying to make her participate in their new education system.

"Not yet," she said, unconcerned. "What's all that?"

He held one paper up. "Plans for the new outpost." He placed a pile off to the side. "Reports... Letter from Lórien—_not_ for you," he added as she tried to snatch it, "more reports, complaints from unhappy subjects... You get the idea."

Was she going to have to do these things if she... "Do you ever wish you weren't the prince?" she asked.

He nodded. "Always."

Interesting. "Really?"

"For one thing," he told her, "it keeps me so busy that I cannot spend much time with you."

"Not anymore," Eithryn said, opening the Quenya book and snuggling up against him. "You might want to start; you have about ten minutes before I get bored."

Thranduil chuckled and reached for the stack. This was the first time he could remember when a day of doing paperwork did not sound so bad.

. . . . . .

That evening, Oropher heard a knock on his study door. "Come in," he called.

Thranduil came in, balancing a pile of papers. "Good evening, father," he said as he deposited them on Oropher's desk.

The king relaxed, recognizing the calm tone of his son's voice. He was forgiven, apparently.

He sat up straight again when Eithryn entered carrying the rest of the stack.

Sky put her papers on top of Thranduil's and watched with a grin as Oropher's face slowly turned beet-red, returned almost to its normal color, and then went even darker than it had the first time as the king apparently thought of something else. Thranduil pulled her close to him as though he expected his father to attack her, which did look likely.

It took several minutes, but Oropher did finally manage to calm himself somewhat. "What have you done with Taensirion?" he asked, his voice sounding strained.

"Tied him up at your house," Sky answered matter-of-factly. They'd enlisted Kilvara to bind him when she heard the king approaching; they couldn't make him stay tied for as long as it took the king to return, could they? Not after what he'd done for them.

Thranduil took a deep breath. "Father," he said carefully, "I understand why you do not approve of Eithryn, but I..." He looked to Eithryn for approval, and she nodded. "_We_ have made our choice, whether you like it or not. So we are giving _you_ a choice. Either you give us your blessing, or..."

"Or we leave?" Eithryn asked.

He hesitated, not wanting to go that far.

"Or you keep trying to separate us," she corrected herself, "and it doesn't change anything, because no matter where you lock him up, I can get him out. And if you lock _me_ up... I have friends. So."

They waited. Oropher's expression was unreadable.

Finally, the king spoke. "Thranduil, hand me that bottle of wine on the shelf, please." The prince did so, and Oropher poured some of it into a glass and drained it in one gulp, then leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. "There is nothing I can do to change your minds, is there?"

"No," Thranduil said firmly. Eithryn echoed him.

Oropher groaned. "Will you promise me one thing?"

Thranduil and Eithryn exchanged looks. "One," Thranduil agreed.

"Swear to me that you will not invite any dwarves to your wedding."

. . . . . .

"I cannot believe I let you talk me into that," Thranduil told Sky as soon as they were safely outside.

"It worked, didn't it?" she pointed out, although, to tell the truth, she'd been sure Oropher would try to lock them up at least once.

Thranduil laughed and took her hands in his. "It did. So when are you going to marry me?"

Her eyes went wide. "Um."

"You agreed you had made your choice," he reminded her.

"I have, but... marriage?" She gulped. She was only a thousand and three, and she was supposed to be a... she wasn't sure whether "princess" or "wife" would make that sentence scarier.

He frowned. "Is that a no, then?"

"Um... well... hold on." She looked down at the ground. How did she feel about this? She was scared, yes, but it wasn't like she was going to marry anyone else, so... why wait? That was all the thinking she needed to do. "Okay. Yes."

Thranduil's smile got almost as big as it had the first time he'd seen her bracelet (which, coincidentally, was what had tipped Oropher off to the fact that he was running out of time to do something). "Really?"

She snorted. "You _were_ worried! Silly prince."

"Silly Silvan elf, not knowing what you wanted," he returned.

"I knew! I just hadn't had time to realize I knew, what with your father trying to keep us apart and all." She made a face at his doubting look. "If I hadn't known, would I have accepted your shiny rock present? Or made it into a bracelet? Or stayed here and put up with Storm instead of leaving Middle-Earth entirely?" Her brother's teasing had not gotten any better since the day they had walked into the feast hall holding hands, and this was not going to help matters.

Thranduil chuckled. "Well, I still knew first." He went silent, looking into her eyes, and Sky got the impression he had forgotten they were having a conversation. She was having some trouble remembering that herself, actually. She noticed that they were unconsciously leaning toward each other; she knew where this was going, but she didn't think he did yet.

So she kissed him, just so she could say she'd done it first.

It was a very short kiss, just long enough for him to realize what was going on before she pulled away, but it had the desired reaction—she could see Thranduil trying to get his brain to restart. So the stories she'd heard about males and kissing were accurate...

"I just thought it wasn't right that we were talking about marriage when we hadn't kissed yet," was the explanation she gave.

"No, that was not right, was it?" Thranduil agreed. "Of course, that hardly counted as a kiss..."

**_Psst-you there! Yes, you- -the one using the electronic device. I have a mission for you. It's very dangerous, but you are the only one who can do it. The world is in danger, and the only way to save it is to _****post a review!****_ Quickly- -there's not much time!_**


	11. Just a Reminder

**_I wrote this one in 2 days :) because it's super short :( but now I can start on the next one :)_**

**_No Sky in this one, sorry. We'll be seeing her again soon, though._**

Storm waited patiently outside the meeting house, sitting on the frosty ground and sharpening his swords absentmindedly. He had no idea when the meeting was supposed to end, but he had time, and this was important. He was waiting for Thranduil.

It was in this very spot, under the willow tree to the left of the window, where his sister had taken to waiting for the prince—her future husband, she had told Storm.

He shook his head disbelievingly. His _sister_—Skyfire, the fierce little creature he had raised from a baby, the child who had once tamed a grown wolf and brought it into the house—was going to marry Thranduil, the very elf who, she had once complained, had almost no sense of humor. How was it even _possible_?

It was incredibly hilarious, yes, but at the same time, Thranduil was just so _intense_ sometimes, and Sky was just so... so everywhere; she was going to make him mad at times. What if he lost his temper with her? Storm wouldn't worry about Sky if someone dumped her into a pit full of wargs, but she couldn't stand it if someone she liked was really, truly angry with her.

Their mother had, with her dying breath, made Storm promise that he would take care of his little sister, and he planned to. He respected her choice, but she just happened to be on patrol this week, so he'd decided this would be a good time to have a "talk" with his future brother-in-law.

Just in case.

. . . . . .

"Whenever you're ready, prince," Storm said, swords at the ready.

Thranduil eyed him warily.

Storm offered a friendly grin. "Come on, Thranduil."

The prince raised an eyebrow. Ever since Eithryn had promised to marry him, he had been noticing Coryn giving him looks that were very out of character for the normally friendly Silvan elf—so often that he was rather glad their blades were padded. Still, he was afraid he would end up with more than a few bruises if they fought. "I told you, I am very busy and do not wish to do this today," he said, backing away.

"Not too busy to spend most of your time with my sister," Coryn pointed out, sidestepping to block Thranduil's path. The prince turned with him. "And you weren't exactly working yesterday, either, so you don't have any excuse."

Thranduil narrowed his eyes at him, but reflected that he probably could not outrun Coryn anyway. "Very well, then." He went into a defensive stance.

Coryn just waited. Right, Thranduil realized, _he_ was supposed to be doing the attacking. Well, Coryn could not have _too_ much more patience than his sister. The prince did not move.

Neither did Coryn. He just matched Thranduil's gaze with those strange two-color eyes of his, reminding him that this was not Eithryn he was dealing with.

Storm noticed the prince's frustrated look and the way he kept shifting his grip on his swords and knew he'd won even before Thranduil growled, "I have things to do, Coryn".

Storm just spread his arms out wide as though to say, "You're the one who's taking so long."

Thranduil huffed and started to circle him.

Storm moved only as much as he needed to so that he could stay facing the prince, watching Thranduil carefully. He didn't miss the way his opponent suddenly tensed. A split second later, Thranduil's sword sliced in—but Storm was already far out of its path, and it was Thranduil who had to scramble to avoid a blade.

The prince quickly realized that he was in trouble. Coryn was not quite as fast as his sister, but he, unlike Eithryn, appeared perfectly focused—and perfectly serious—and he seemed to know Thranduil's moves almost before the prince himself did.

Actually, Storm was grinning on the inside, especially when he got both the prince's swords to one side. Granted, it did take both Storm's blades to keep them there, but it didn't take a weapon to knock Thranduil down—just a good kick in the chest. Storm was about eight inches shorter than Thranduil, but he was strong.

Thranduil pulled himself back to his feet, brushing the dust off his clothes. "I do not like you," he remarked to Storm.

The Silvan elf shrugged. "I'm not the one you're marrying. Again?"

. . . . . .

Several fights later, when Thranduil was limping and very dirty, Storm finally took mercy on him and sheathed his weapons. He had not won every fight, no, but the prince seemed to have gotten the message.

Thranduil seriously considered giving Coryn a few bruises of his own now that he was unarmed, but he had learned enough that day to think better of it. Storm noticed that and nodded to himself.

"I really don't have anything against you," the Silvan elf said, almost apologetically. "But that's not going to help you if anything happens to my sister."

"Is that a threat?" Thranduil asked wryly.

"No," Storm said. "Just a reminder."

**_This was inspired by what my dad said he's going to do if I ever bring a boyfriend home._**


	12. One Small Life--Part 1

**_This takes place during the patrol talked about in the last one._**

"Bird, rock, mushroom, more rocks... Oh, look!" Sky said sarcastically, bending to pick something up. "A stick! Wow, we're finding all sorts of things on this patrol, aren't we?"

Felrion came up beside her and patted her on the shoulder. "It's only a few more hours, Sky."

"A few more hours of walking along the perimeter of the forest, looking at sticks," Sky sighed. "I'd do a lot more good on my own."

"Well, maybe you can change the way patrols work once you're a princess," Kilvara told her.

Sky rolled her eyes and leapt into a tree. "Anyone seen anything interesting?" she called.

A series of amused "No"s came back at her.

"Of course not," she sighed—but then she caught some movement in the distance. Her eyes focused on the spot immediately, but whatever it was, it was just over the hill and she couldn't quite see it from where she stood.

Finally, a chance for excitement. "Oh, patrol leader," she called to Kilvara, "there's something out there—probably harmless, but I'm going to go see. Want to come?"

"Sky and I are going out to look at something," Kilvara told the others. "Stay here unless we call you." The two she-elves ran out into the open.

Sky slowed as she neared the top of the hill and cocked her head to listen, but she didn't hear anything—wait. Was that...? "Oh, no," she whispered, sprinting up over the top. Kilvara followed.

Sky almost stepped on it—the dirty pile of rags on the ground—but she spotted it at the last moment and crouched for a closer look, then gave a choked cry and fell to her knees. "It" was a child—a human girl—but so emaciated she looked like a skeleton. Her brown eyes flickered open when Sky touched her, but they were unfocused. Sky couldn't get her voice to work, but Kilvara took one look at the girl and started screaming for Felrion.

. . . . . .

Back in the safety of the trees, Sky and Kilvara waited anxiously as Felrion examined the girl; Kilvara tapped her fingers on the trunk of a young tree, while Sky paced restlessly. Finally, Felrion turned away from the child, and the she-elves watched him anxiously, their hearts in their throats.

Felrion shook his head.

Sky felt like the ground had fallen out from under her. She was barely conscious of Kilvara saying, "Come on, Sky. Let's go run for a while, okay?" She pushed her friend away and knelt over the little girl. Her eyes were clear now—Felrion must have given her some sort of medicine—and she looked at Sky curiously. Sky picked her up—she weighed almost nothing!—and looked around, then went over to one of the trees and started climbing, holding the girl with one arm. She kept going until she was far, far above the sounds of the patrol, and then finally settled on a branch. It was just starting to get dark, but she thought it was warm enough for the human child.

The girl was watching her with a look of awe. "Hi," Sky said in the Common tongue.

"Are you an elf?" the girl asked sleepily.

Sky smiled. "Yes, I am. My name's Sky; what's yours?"

"Mira."

"Hi, Mira. Where are you from?" Sky asked.

"The river," the girl said shyly.

Sky doubted Greenwood's river could have washed her in from anywhere; she must have meant she had grown up by a river. "The river? Are you a fish?"

Mira giggled. "Yes."

"Wow," Sky said. "I've always wanted to talk to a fish. What do fishes do?"

"They swim." _Elves don't know much, do they?_ Mira's tone said.

"Oh. And why are you so far from your river, fish?"

"I got lost."

Very, very lost, Sky thought. "Your mommy and daddy fishes must be looking for you."

"No," Mira disagreed. "They told me to go away."

Sky fought back her horror—how could someone have done this to _any_ child, let alone their own?—and held the girl more tightly. "That's not good. You're only a little fish."

"Can I be an elf now?" Mira wanted to know.

"No," Sky told her. "You're going to go somewhere really special, where there's lots and lots of food and no one will _ever_ tell you to go away ever again."

"But I want to stay with you," Mira complained.

"I know. I want you to stay with me, too, but I can't keep you." Sky forced a smile. "Does anything hurt, little fish?"

"No."

That was one small mercy, Sky thought. If Felrion had not been there... "That's good." She wrapped the little one in her cloak and gazed up at the stars.

. . . . . .

"I see them," Coryn called, jumping down from his perch on a branch. "Can you make it another minute without seeing Sky, prince?"

Thranduil rolled his eyes and leaned back against the tree, making a point of looking as relaxed as he could.

Storm chuckled. "Still not talking to me, I take it?"

Thranduil gave him a look, then turned his head away. He wondered if Eithryn would get revenge on Coryn for him if he told her what he had done to him, and if he would be willing to admit he had lost to her brother anyway.

"Fine, then," Coryn said as the patrol came into sight. "Hey, Kilvara..." He trailed off, seeing the looks on their faces.

Thranduil only noticed Eithryn. She was looking down, so he could not see her expression, but it was obvious something was wrong. He ran over. "What is it?" he asked, kneeling in front of her.

She said nothing, just fell to her knees and threw herself into his arms.

Thranduil held her against his chest and gave Kilvara a panicky look, but she and Felrion were talking to Storm, all of them looking very upset. Felrion had something in his arms—something small and very, very still.

**_Sky doesn't feel the same way about mortals as Thranduil does._**


	13. One Small Life--Part 2

**_This one is hobbit-level short, but I promise it'll be the last sad one for a while. Probably. It happens immediately after the last one._**

Thranduil knocked on the door to Eithryn's room. "May I come in?"

No answer.

He went in anyway and sat down next to the Eithryn-shaped lump in the blankets. "They are going to bury her. I—I did not think you would want to go, but Felrion said I should tell you." He waited. "Eithryn, are you all right?" When she still did not respond, he pulled the covers off her and lifted her into a sitting position.

A tear ran down her cheek.

"Oh, Eithryn. Why did you let yourself get attached to her? You knew she was dying."

That finally got her attention. "So? Would you have let her die alone? She had _no one else_, Thranduil. Her parents _abandoned _her."

"Abandoned?" Abandoning was something one did not do even to one's friends. Were humans _that_ evil?

"She said they told her to go away," Sky said softly. "If I knew where to find them..."

"They would die," Thranduil agreed. "But we do not."

Eithryn stared unseeingly at the wall. "She was so young, Thranduil."

"She would not have lived a hundred years anyway," he reminded her.

Apparently, that had been the wrong thing to say. "So that makes her life worth so much less, does it?" she snapped.

Thranduil could not decide how to respond, so he stayed silent.

"I know you think mortals' deaths are meaningless because they didn't have a lot to lose," she said, her voice shaking, "but for them, it _is_ a lot. They only get a few years in this world, Thranduil, but that only makes that time more precious to them. If you take that from them, it's just as bad as taking thousands of years off the life of an elf, and _we'll_ get another chance at life. They won't."

Thranduil had never thought about it that way before.

"And yes," Sky told him, "I will be going."

. . . . . .

The hole was dug, and Felrion picked up the sheet-wrapped body.

"Felrion?" Sky pulled out of Thranduil's arms and held out hers. The healer nodded and gave her the bundle.

Sky walked slowly to the hole, cradling Mira's body in her arms, seeming to forget anyone else was there. She gently lowered the small form into the earth, and her hand lingered on it for another second. "Goodbye, little fish," she murmured. Then she turned and walked past the others and into the forest.

. . . . . .

_Three Months Later_

Thranduil found his wife-to-be at the edge of the stream, just looking into the water. He had seen her doing things like that more often since the human girl's death than in all the time before.

"You still miss her," he observed, sitting next to her.

She nodded absently.

"You only knew her for one night."

"That's enough time for a child to make a friend. Why should I take any longer?"

He laughed softly. "You are amazing." He waited a moment, then added, "Have I mentioned that I love you?"

She smiled—a sight that was finally becoming more common again. "A few times, yes."

He put his arm around her. "I ask you again: when will you marry me?"

"Tomorrow?"

Thranduil smirked. "I like your enthusiasm, love, but my father would kill me. I believe the soonest he would agree to is a year from now."

"A year it is, then," Eithryn agreed, and she kissed him. No sooner did their lips touch, however, than she broke away to say, "I want children. At least five."

"Perhaps we should wait a few years, hmm?" Thranduil did not have the slightest idea what to do with children. He would need to ask his father, or maybe Coryn. No, on second thought, not Coryn.

Eithryn sighed. "If we must." They kissed again.

**_So, as you may have guessed, the next one is (probably) going to be their wedding, and I have NO idea what an elven wedding's supposed to be like, so if you have any ideas..._**

**_Oh, and while I'm thinking about it, I realize some of you may be wondering (or are at least vaguely curious) about why I decided to make Thranduil's wife Silvan. Well, my biggest reasons are that 1) Silvan elves are cool and 2) It worked better for the purposes of my story. HOWEVER, there is some evidence, mainly from looking at Legolas, that suggests she was not Sindar. Here are the ones I can think of right now:_**

**1\. Legolas is shorter than his father. ****_Silvan elves tend to be considerably smaller than Sindar._**

**2\. Legolas's choice of weapons. ****_Legolas uses a bow (which he is very good with) and knives- -definitely Silvan weapons._**

**3\. Legolas's fighting style. ****_To be specific, the way he jumps/climbs on all his enemies- -let's see, spiders, dwarves, a bat, a troll, Bolg, another troll, and a mumakil. Am I forgetting anything? Anyway, he did grow up in a forest, but still._**


	14. A New Beginning

**_I'd like to start by saying that no one gets to complain about how I did the wedding, because no one gave me any advice on how to do it. Exceptions are: 1) those of you who had not read the last chapter by the time this one was published, and 2) DakotaPevensieGreenleaf, because you at least _****told****_ me you didn't have any ideas. (P.S. Thanks for all the great reviews/conversations!)_**

**_The rest of you: you had your chance._**

Kilvara knocked—or maybe pounded would be a better word—on the door. "Sky!"

"Quit trying to break our house, Kilvara, she'll be out in a minute." Kilvara and Felrion looked over to see Storm sticking his head out the window. "Honestly, you're fretting more than she is."

"Of course I am! My best friend's getting married!" She wiped a tear from her eye. Felrion patted her on the back.

Storm leaned on the windowsill. "And you two... One of these days the two of you are going to realize you're perfect for each other."

They, predictably, separated quickly. Storm laughed.

"Planning a second wedding already, Storm?"

Everyone turned to the newcomer—a dark-haired elf a little taller than Storm—as he clambered up onto the porch. "Ereinion!" Storm said joyfully.

"Ereinion?" Felrion asked. "This is Gil-Galad?"

"You must be Felrion," the Noldor king observed, going over to the Silvan elf. "Sky says you are a finer healer than could be found among my people."

Felrion blushed. "You know Sky; she exaggerates. And I'm useless with a blade or bow."

"But you would not save many lives with those anyway, now would you?" Gil-Galad smiled. "We all have our own strengths, Felrion of the Woodland Realm. Storm, for example, has a way of predicting things about couples that they themselves do not know." He winked.

"You stay out of this," Kilvara warned him.

Storm shook his head. "No, no, no. You described him as 'wise' a few decades ago. Clearly we should listen to—Oh, here she comes! Wow, sis, you look good."

Sky laughed nervously. "Thanks."

"Come out here, and let us see you," Kilvara urged.

Apparently Sky hesitated, because she didn't appear at the door.

"Oh, go on," Storm said, throwing the door open and practically shoving her out. She looked down at the ground, blushing—and not without reason.

"Sky, you're wearing a dress!" Kilvara cried. It was true; Sky was in a long, graceful silver dress that gleamed like the stars that were just appearing above them, and not only that—she also had huge red flowers braided into her hair, which, for once, otherwise hung free.

She looked up shyly. "Yeah, I—GIL!" She hurtled into him, almost knocking him over. "You came! I thought you hadn't gotten my message!"

He squeezed her. "I... thought it might be best if Oropher did not see me until after you did, if you get my meaning, but I would never miss your wedding, Skyfire. Even if your letter had gotten lost, I would have heard about it somehow. You do look beautiful, by the way."

"You really do." Kilvara joined the hug.

"Oh, don't _you_ start getting all sentimental," Sky told her.

"Someone's got to do it," she replied.

"Urgh." Sky wriggled. "We're going to be late, you two. Let me go."

They did so reluctantly—but Sky was only free for a second before Felrion took their place. "We're so happy for you, Sky."

"I know, I know, now get off. _Too much attention,_ you three."

"It _is_ your wedding, you know." Storm joined them on the porch. "I think we're required to fuss over you."

"Do you want a hug, too?" Sky asked dryly.

He wrapped her in a bear hug. "I really think I'm entitled to two, but I'll settle for just one."

"All right, then," Kilvara continued when he was done, "are we ready?"

Sky took a deep breath and nodded. "Let's go."

Kilvara led the way down the tree, with Felrion and Sky—who seemed a little unsure of how to climb in a dress—close behind. Gil-Galad and Storm hung back.

"And how are _you_ doing?" the Noldor king asked.

Storm hesitated, watching his sister. "It's going to be so strange, not having her in the house," he said finally.

"I do not envy you. You were both brother and father to her."

Storm nodded slowly. "And it's still hard sometimes not to think of her as a little elfling, but she might have her own children soon."

Gil-Galad chuckled. "It _is_ odd to imagine her as a mother, I must admit."

. . . . . .

Oropher found Thranduil pacing restlessly in front of his couch and made him sit down. "Breathe," he reminded his son gently. "Everything is taken care of."

Thranduil obediently took a deep breath.

"Ah, my son," Oropher mused, "when I made the decision to come to Greenwood, I hoped we might start a new life here, but I never expected you would find love so quickly, or—" He laughed softly, "—in such a strange place." He paused. "And while I admit that I was opposed to your marriage, it was for my own sake, not yours. Many times I have watched you with her, and the two of you have a love to rival what I once felt for your mother. I am glad you have found that, Thranduil, even if I fully expect her to drive me mad someday."

Thranduil smiled. "Thank you, father."

Oropher glanced out the window; the stars were out. "It is time. Unless you are having second thoughts—"

"I am not," Thranduil assured him.

Oropher sighed. "You cannot blame me for hoping."

. . . . . .

The clearing was star-lit and empty, but the whispers of hundreds of elves in the shadows around it could be heard. Every voice silenced instantly when Oropher appeared and made his way to the center, where a single slender tree reached into the heavens. This was the place where every Silvan marriage had happened for centuries, but this one would be a little different—this time, one of the two was Sindarin.

The king came to a stop. "Thranduil, Eithryn, join me." Mentally, he ran through his words one last time, but they were few, unlike in the traditional Sindarin ceremony, which lasted about half an hour.

Thranduil swallowed hard, while on the opposite side, Storm broke his promise and gave Sky another fierce hug. Then, at the same time, Sky and Thranduil stepped into the starlight, shielded from each other's sight by the silver wood of the tree. Oropher stepped back as they each came close enough to touch the bark, then, as though they could not wait any longer, stepped quickly around to meet in front of him.

Thranduil nearly gasped out loud. She looked _radiant_. Not to mention the compliment she was giving him by wearing a dress...

Sky was mostly just trying not to hyperventilate. She'd been fine until she stepped into the clearing, but now...

"Thranduil, prince of Greenwood, and Eithryn of the Silvan elves," Oropher began, "You have chosen to join together—to unite your souls for all eternity. Do you understand this?"

Blue eyes met green, and both nodded.

"And you understand your responsibilities? That you must always stand by each other, even in times of turmoil or of grief?"

They nodded. Thranduil took Eithryn's hands in his—she was shaking a little. "How to begin?" he wondered. "I remember when we first met—shortly after you tried to shoot my father." A ripple of laughter swept around the clearing, but they hardly heard it. "I thought you were beautiful then." He smirked a little as he continued, "Even from the beginning, I knew that you were like no one I had ever met. You did not listen to a word I said, of course, but you were also independent, and clever, and so very brave, and you were right—you still are—more often than I want to admit. You know what you want and you _fight_ for it—I never want to be on the wrong end of one of your arrows—and you are so _alive._ And finally, you are good. You would give your life for anyone without a thought—though I pray with all my heart that you will never have to!—and you can look past appearances to love someone for what is inside. You are everything I fear I will never be, and I love you for it. You make my life worth living."

"Funny you say that," she answered, "because when you came to Greenwood, I was thinking, 'No. These robe-wearing, strict-talking idiots aren't messing up _my_ forest.' But you surprised me, because you actually cared about us, and it turns out you _do_ know how to have fun. And you're wrong—you _are_ good. You've already shown that you would do anything to protect us." She grinned. "And you're my favorite person in the world." She hesitated, wanting to say more but not sure how, but something in Thranduil's eyes told her he understood anyway. She took a step toward him, and he tilted his head to the side.

"And now—" Oropher started, but they swept together and kissed without waiting for him to finish. Oropher cleared his throat, but they ignored him. There was more laughter.

"And now, by the love that holds you together and the promises that bind you, two become one, and I name you husband and wife. _Now_ you may kiss." They had pulled apart by that point, but at Oropher's declaration, they started again. "You are a bad influence on my son, Silvan," Oropher grumbled.

She raised an eyebrow at him, but she couldn't exactly speak at the moment, so Oropher was spared whatever sarcastic response she had come up with.

And then they were—to put it in Sky's words—attacked by a whole lot of Silvan elves, quite a few Sindar, and one Noldor. Somehow Oropher noticed Gil-Galad in the crowd.

"What are _you_ doing here?" he snapped, cornering the smaller elf against the tree.

Gil-Galad held up his hands in a peacemaking gesture. "I was invited," he answered calmly.

"We shall see about that," Oropher promised. "Thranduil!"

All the elves near him quieted. "Yes, father?" Thranduil asked. Eithryn looked over and winced.

"Do you invite this elf?"

Thranduil raised an eyebrow at Gil-Galad. "Who are you?"

"That's Gil-Galad," Eithryn told him. "He's my friend."

Oropher was wearing his "I'd-better-not-have-heard-that-right" expression. "What did you say?"

Sky let go of Thranduil and stepped up to the king. "I said he's my friend. And you will not touch him." Her green eyes blazed.

Thranduil caught her arm and tried to pull her behind him, but she would not budge—and then, to his utter amazement, Oropher actually took a step back. "You will follow my laws and stay no more than three days," he snapped at Gil-Galad. Then he vanished into the crowd.

Thranduil stared in amazement at his new wife, remembering the few times _he_ had been subjected to the full power of that glare and being, now that he thought about it, not very surprised that Oropher had been unnerved. "How _do_ you do that?"

"It's her eyes, I think," Gil-Galad said. "Well met, Prince Thranduil, and congratulations."

Thranduil eyed him, not sure how to act around this elf who no longer outranked his father, at least not in Oropher's kingdom.

Eithryn elbowed him in the ribs. "Friend," she reminded him.

"I mean no harm," Gil-Galad assured him. "Your father and I have never seen eye to eye, but I would like a better relationship with you."

Thranduil tipped his head to him. "Well met, King Gil-Galad."

Gil-Galad bowed respectfully. "Thank you, but the title is not necessary."

"Your father should take notes," Eithryn told Thranduil, who kissed her on the forehead so she would not see the look he gave Gil-Galad.

They turned as a voice came from behind them. "Let me through—that's my sister." Coryn appeared, quickly followed by Kilvara and Felrion. "Sorry—Oropher was glaring at us, so we had to make a detour. Come here, Sky."

Felrion and Kilvara congratulated Thranduil while Eithryn tried to escape from yet another of Coryn's hugs.

. . . . . .

Oropher leaned back in his chair and lifted his wine glass. "To Thranduil and Eithryn. May they know nothing but happiness."

"To Thranduil and Eithryn," the elves echoed.

Coryn whispered something into Gil-Galad's ear, and the Noldor nodded and stood. "May I?" he asked Oropher. When the Sindarin king nodded, Gil-Galad continued, "To the new princess."

The echo was almost drowned out by the Silvan elves' laughter. It was already well known how much Eithryn hated that title. "I'll get you for that," she warned Gil-Galad. "And you, stop laughing," she snapped at her husband. Apparently Thranduil found Gil-Galad's choice of words very amusing.

Thranduil tried, but his shoulders still shook with mirth. "But he is right."

"Ugh," Eithryn said, trying to hide as the clearing's worth of elves went to their own conversations.

"Of all the crazy ways your life could have gone..." Kilvara trailed off.

"This is the one we would never have bet on," Felrion agreed.

"Oh, you're finishing each other's sentences now?" Storm asked, with a wink at Sky. She mentally promised to thank him later for distracting everyone.

"Hush, Storm, or I'll throw my cup at you," Kilvara threatened.

"Ah, Stormfire," Gil-Galad mused. "You should visit me more often. How else will I know which weddings to plan?"

"Sky, tell your guest to mind his own business," Kilvara ordered.

Sky turned to Thranduil. "Do you hear that? It sounds like hypocrisy."

"I do believe you are right," the prince agreed.

Sky grinned. "Sorry, Kilvara, but you always seemed to enjoy teasing people about these things before, so..."

"You know as well as I do that it was mostly this pest!" Kilvara pointed to Storm.

"I'm not a pest!" Storm protested. "If anything, I'm... um..."

"I've always thought of you as someone's favorite uncle," Gil-Galad observed mischievously.

"A favorite uncle without any nieces or nephews," Felrion added, catching on.

All heads turned to Thranduil and his wife, who had been greatly enjoying listening to the conversation until now. "Yet," Storm corrected.

Eithryn and the prince traded looks. "Would you like to dance?" Thranduil suggested.

She was out of her chair before he finished. "I would."

"I want at least seven," Coryn called after them.

"That would be more than your five," Thranduil whispered in Eithryn's ear.

"Yes, it would." She changed course suddenly, pulling on his hand. "Let's go somewhere else instead."

Some peace and quiet did sound nice, Thranduil had to agree. "Let's."

It took them quite a while to escape—they _were_ the ones being celebrated, after all—but eventually they made it into the forest, and after that it didn't take long to find a quiet spot. Thranduil sat down with his back to a tree, but apparently that spot was not wood-elf approved—Eithryn went up the tree instead, motioning for the prince to follow.

"You climb faster every year," she told him when he finally caught up with her on a branch wide enough that they could probably have had a sparring match on it if they wanted, and several trees away from where they had started.

"I had better, if I am to rule Silvan elves," he pointed out. "You never know when they might unexpectedly take to the trees."

She laughed. "Look."

He looked, and immediately understood why she had chosen this spot; this was the tallest tree in the area, so they had a very good view of both the party and the stars. The Silvan elves were very fond of starlight, and Thranduil could see why. "You should come to more of the feasts," he said absently.

"Tell your father to un-forbid me from coming," she answered. "Otherwise I get thrown out every few minutes."

"I shall." He kissed her. "You should wear dresses more often as well."

She grimaced. "They're incredibly inconvenient. Don't get your hopes up."

He sighed, turning back to the scene below. Coryn appeared to be telling their friends a story—or maybe a series of very bad jokes, from the reactions he was getting—and his father was obviously getting rather drunk.

"Thranduil?"

"Yes?" He leaned in to get a better look at her eyes and remembered at the last moment that if he kissed her again, he would not get to find out what she was going to say.

"Thank you for existing."

**_I don't think I'm very good at writing cheesy stuff. Oh, well. At least I'm good at fluff. The tone of the next who-knows-how-many chapters should be back to normal. I have an idea for the next one, and two maybe-ideas for the ones after that. Or perhaps three._**

**_Long Live the Elvenking._**


	15. Galion

**_When I was first introduced to this website, I discovered a character that I had hardly paid attention to when I first read The Hobbit, and I quickly fell in love with him. My friends, I would like to introduce you to... Galion._**

"This will not go well," Thranduil informed his father. They were in Oropher's study.

"You told me you wanted a butler."

"That was before I married Eithryn. _She will hate this_."

Oropher frowned. "Thranduil, I have already gone to the trouble of choosing someone, and I have promised him a job. Would you have me send him home _now_?"

Thranduil groaned. "Father, what are you trying to do here? I know you are not so foolish as to think this is wise."

Oropher smirked.

Thranduil wondered if his father simply wanted to cause trouble between him and his wife. He was sure Oropher and Eithryn would get along spectacularly if only they would try, given their mutual love of mischief. The only difference was that Oropher could not stand it if that mischief was directed at him. "Fine. We will try it." He sighed. "The poor boy."

The king chuckled and walked to the door. "Come in, Galion."

The elf who entered was brown-haired and clearly Silvan, and his mannerisms confirmed what Oropher had said when he first described him to Thranduil—he was fairly young. He seemed more than a bit nervous as he approached Thranduil, but also determined to make a good first impression. "Good morning, Sir," he said in perfect Sindarin.

"Good morning." Just to test him, Thranduil circled him slowly, making "hmm" sounds every so often. "He will not last long," Thranduil told his father when he completed his circuit. He looked down at Galion. "Though it will not be his fault."

"You will not know until you introduce them," Oropher reminded him.

Thranduil was quite sure Eithryn would not surprise him this time, but he also knew Oropher would not give in until he had tried. "Very well. Come, Galion." The Silvan elf followed him out of the room.

. . . . . .

Sky cocked her head curiously at the Silvan elf standing next to her husband. "We've met, haven't we? But I don't remember your name."

Thranduil cleared his throat, making her give him a curious look. "This is Galion," he said.

"Right." She looked back and forth between the two of them. "Okay, what's going on?"

Best to just tell her. "Galion is going to be our butler."

Her mouth fell open. "WHAT?"

Galion shifted nervously. Thranduil turned to him. "Would you give us a moment?"

Galion obediently went outside.

Judging by Eithryn's expression, Thranduil knew he needed to speak quickly. "Please give him a chance." While Eithryn usually needed things explained to her, he did not think mentioning his father would help.

"No."

"Spitfire. He will only be here during the day, six days a week. He does not need to do anything for you, but he will be very helpful for me."

She threw her hands up in the air. "You need someone to... what? Clean and get you stuff? _I_ could do that!"

"You would hate it," he pointed out. "And you are my wife now. I would not make you do such things."

"_You_ could do it, too."

"And then I would have even less time to spend with you. Eithryn, I know you are not used to this way of life, but I am. Please?" He held his breath as she frowned at him. He had been half tempted to let her throw Galion out just to show his father he had been right, but he felt sorry for the poor elf, and he really would appreciate some help. He did not enjoy doing the cleaning, and neither did Eithryn.

"He won't last a week," she said finally.

Thranduil sighed in relief and kissed her on the cheek. "He might surprise you. Galion!" he called.

The young elf came back in. "Yes, my lord?"

"When can you begin?"

Galion worked to keep what he'd been told was a very unprofessional grin off his face. "Anytime, my lord. Today, even." He turned to Eithryn. "I promise I will not disappoint you, my lady." Galion wasn't stupid; he knew which of the two he had to convince.

She stiffened. "You will NEVER call me that again."

Galion made an "Eep" noise. "Sorry! Sorry. It won't happen again." He bowed several times. Thranduil groaned.

Eithryn reacted like someone had ordered her to chop down a tree. "Stop that!" She grabbed him by the shoulders and tried to force him to stand upright. "I'm not a Sindar! _What have they done to your dignity?!_" He tried to bow again, and she slapped him across the face.

Thranduil decided it was time to separate them. "Easy there, Spitfire," he said, gently restraining her with his arms. "You are scaring him. She does not like to be treated as anyone's superior," he attempted to explain to the butler.

Galion was staring at Eithryn with wide eyes. "Got it."

. . . . . .

The first task Thranduil gave Galion the next day was dusting—something that had not been done since Eithryn had moved into his house eight months before. Anyway, he did not need anything brought to him, and he felt the boy should do _something_ on his first day. Galion visibly relaxed when Eithryn gave him a friendly grin, but as soon as he left the room, she vanished out the window. Thranduil wondered what he could possibly give poor Galion to make up for the emotional scars he was likely to end up with.

Galion found a feather duster—which was itself in need of dusting—and got to work, starting in the living room. He dusted the bookshelf, the table, the back of the couch, the tops of a few paintings Thranduil had acquired somewhere, the chandelier (the likes of which he had never seen outside of the king's house, where he had been summoned when the king was looking for a butler for his son)—even the tops of the candles on the chandelier were dusty—the chair by the window, the fireplace—not the inside, _that_ he would need something stronger for—the outsides of several pots holding various live plants, the plants themselves, the top of the door, and _not_ the windowsill, which was oddly spotless. Then he went into the small connected kitchen to dust everything in there. When he was done, he went to do the same in Thranduil's study, only to pause in confusion. He _had_ dusted the living room, hadn't he? He wiped a finger along the windowsill, leaving a visible trail in the—hold on, that wasn't _house_ dust; it was _ground _dust. More like dirt, really.

Hmm.

Well, he would not give in yet. He brandished the feather duster, then jumped a foot in the air as the chair next to him suddenly jerked all by itself. He assumed someone must have been pulling on it, but could see no rope. He stood back and scratched his chin, then suddenly shoved his head out the window. Nothing. Nor was there anything under the chair when he moved it to check, except for a lot of spilled dust.

He had worked hard for this opportunity. He did not entirely understand what he had done to offend the princess, but he had seen enough to confirm that Prince Thranduil needed him, and so did his wife, though she did not know it yet.

Now, for most elves, being a butler—even the prince's butler—would not seem like an ideal career. Galion, however, had never quite been normal. While the other elflings climbed trees, he had carefully groomed the dead needles from the pines and washed the bird droppings from the broadleaves; while his friends had snowball fights, he got a fire going and made hot drinks for them; and when his friend's parents talked about the things they had to do to get their elflings to clean their rooms, his own looked at each other and remembered a time when they had been allowed to make their own beds and wash their own dishes, and wondered what in the world they had done wrong, or right—whichever it was.

The point was, Galion _wanted_ this job, so much so that he started over on the dusting and only flinched a little when the chair slammed back against the wall.

Thranduil heard the thud, but decided he did not want to know. Eithryn came in the window a few minutes later, rolling up a transparent and very thin, but surprisingly strong wire that she kept for occasions where it needed to look like things were moving by themselves. She saw Thranduil's disapproving frown and said, "Oh, come on, I'm sure there are plenty of Sindar who would take a butler." When that didn't do it, she vanished out the window again, saying, "Like _you're _nice all the time."

Thranduil did think she had looked a _little_ guilty.

. . . . . .

"Galion?" Thranduil called.

The butler was at the door in an instant. "What can I get you, my lord?"

"Some tea, please. Look in the top cabinet to the right of the sink."

Galion nodded and went through the (finally fully dusted) living room and into the kitchen. He found and made the tea without incident, other than some slight trouble (and the acquisition of a minor burn or two) figuring out how to use the miniature fire contraption (Oropher had called his a stove), then picked up the kettle and a cup and turned for the door, only to stop and stare open-mouthed at the... the _catastrophe_ that the living room had become. There were wires _everywhere_, and the floor was covered with marbles, and there were buckets holding who knew what suspended from the ceiling so the slightest brush against any one of the tripwires would send _something_ raining down on him. He hadn't even caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye.

He was going to get fired. They'd told him he would—"they" being everyone he'd mentioned his new job to, whether they had personally met Eithryn or not—and they were right. He was doomed.

But...

But if he couldn't do it, who could? He alone could figure out exactly how an elf liked their tea in ten cups or less by examining their reaction to their first sip from each, he alone could instantly spot a muddy footprint in a twenty-foot-square section of carpet, and could anyone else babysit four elflings of various ages who had been stuck inside for six days because it was raining, give in to their pleas to let them go out and play in the mud, and still return them to their parents without a speck on them or their clothing? No, they could not. (And if _he_ could not convince them to do something that would not get them dirty, no one else could, either.) Only he had the skills to do this job.

He was Galion, and he would not let marbles or wire stop him... or even mysterious gloop-filled buckets.

He took a deep breath and started to step forward, then stopped just in time, put the tea down, and grabbed a knife instead. Quickly, he sliced through the string in front of the door, catching the attached bucket as it fell—a bit of slime sloshed out—and gently setting it down. Then he grabbed the tea again and plunged in.

He quickly devised a system of pushing the marbles aside with his foot with each step so that he had a stable surface to stand on, but the wires were harder. The first was knee-high and he stepped over it easily, but he had to duck under the next and then slip between two more, and so on. Then, without warning, he stepped on a marble and slipped, and barely caught himself in time, but the tea did not spill, and he went on.

The final obstacle was actually two wires—one waist-high and one low. He stopped and looked around, but there was no other way—he would have to jump, and quickly, before the prince came to see what was going on.

This was it, then—the final test. If he failed now, all would be lost. If only he had spent more of his childhood leaping through the trees... but it was too late for that. He jumped.

. . . . . .

Thranduil hid his surprise well when Galion walked into his study with the tea; he had been sure he had heard something rolling, but the butler just poured the drink and handed it to him with a bow, then left.

. . . . . .

Impossible.

He'd gotten past the marbles and the wires, even the last one. He hadn't even been supposed to notice the first trap, but he'd made it through the whole thing _with_ the tea. Sky wasn't sure _Thranduil_ could have done that; this elf should have been a fighter. And now he'd cleaned the whole thing up in the span of only a few minutes—he could untie her knots!—and was reading by the fireplace, patiently waiting for his next job. She was impressed... but she had one more test for him.

. . . . . .

Thranduil put the last touches on his report and sighed deeply as he placed it in its designated envelope. He was done with his work for today, which meant it was time to face the mess that was undoubtedly in his living room and to see if Galion would be staying another day. He opened the door and went out, past the bedroom and the closet, afraid of what he would find, and making sure to watch for tripwires. He did not see any, though, and neither did he find a mess, or a traumatized butler weeping or huddled in a corner. Indeed, had he not seen his wife several times that day, he would have thought someone had called her away, because there was Galion, getting a fire going to ward off the evening chill and looking incredibly calm.

He smiled serenely at Thranduil. "Good evening, my lord."

"Good evening," Thranduil stammered, so surprised was he to find the boy in one piece.

Galion scanned the prince's expression intently. "Is everything all right?"

"I did not expect you to be this resilient," Thranduil replied bluntly.

Galion stepped back to study his handiwork and laughed. "Neither did I. I believe I found something within myself today—a strength I didn't know I had. Your wife is..."

"Unpredictable?" Thranduil suggested. "Violent? Territorial?"

"Talented and persistent," Galion said carefully.

"Ah, yes, she is that too." Thranduil smirked. "I do hope she learns to tolerate you. She hates it when anyone suggests she needs to be taken care of, you see."

"I know the type." Galion seemed like a totally different elf now that he had faced his fears. "Perhaps I can change her mind. Eventually," he added in response to Thranduil's snort. "I do not expect it to happen overnight."

"I would be amazed if you succeeded. I myself tried to change her once, before I realized I loved her the way she is... Irrational independence and all."

"Aww." Only Galion jumped upon noticing Eithryn sitting on the windowsill. "You love me even though I'm irrational. That's sweet."

Thranduil's laughter cut off suddenly as Galion gasped, and he pondered first the butler's look of horror, and then his wife's innocent smile. "You will _not_," Galion told her, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"I won't what?"

Galion narrowed his eyes at her disapprovingly. "You will not track mud into this house. Not while I'm here." Only then did Thranduil realize that Eithryn's boots were covered in mud almost to the top.

"Oh, really?"

This was the final confrontation, Thranduil sensed. No matter how much he wanted to save Galion, he had to step back and give the boy a chance.

"Really." Galion looked her straight in the bright green eyes. She stared back. Their glares intensified to the point that Thranduil half expected them to attack each other.

Then a miracle happened. First Galion, then Eithryn cracked a smile. Eithryn giggled, Galion snickered a little, and then Eithryn slipped off her boots and placed them outside. "If you really feel that way..." she said, sliding to the floor. "You're wasted as a butler, though. He's staying, in case you missed that," she told Thranduil as she trotted past him. He gave Galion an amazed look and followed her out of the living room.

Galion heaved a massive sigh of relief and leaned against the wall. He'd done it. He worked for the prince _and_ the princess now.

He just hoped that not every day would be this exciting. He was only a butler, after all.

**_As some of you may know, it can be hard as a writer to stick to just one story at a time. I, however, would NEVER betray you by starting a new story, even if it was going to be shorter, about two (or maybe four) characters who truly deserve their own story, and of a type where I could continue to work on this story, only adding to that story on occasion, as there would be few or no cliffhangers. Even if I _****did****_ have two fascinating and seemingly mismatched characters, one from Rohan and the other living in Rivendell, I would _****never****_ write a story about them. Never. You definitely will not find another story on my profile page should you decide to check it out a week or so from now, and you definitely should not give it a try, as it will definitely not be interesting since it definitely will not exist._**


	16. To Catch an Elk--Part 1

**_As you may have noticed, it's been a while since I added any chapters. That's because I completely changed what I wanted to do with this chapter at least twice, and my brain is still elsewhere for reasons both normal and of the my-world-just-turned-upside-down-but-in-a-good-way type, so it's going slowly. I decided to post what I had of this chapter so far so you wouldn't all think a warg ate me or something._**

"Ten sets, really?" Storm gave his sister his new "You married _this_ elf? Seriously?" look as he walked.

"That's only the fancy robes," she corrected. "Why anyone would need a whole room just for clothing is beyond me. It's small, but it's _full_."

"Is it a room, or a closet?" Storm knew his sister well.

"A closet _is_ a small room. And now that we have you-know-who,"—Galion—"he doesn't even put them away anymore. _Or_ wash them."

"Do _you_ still wash your own clothes?" Storm asked mischievously.

She glared at him. "You're supposed to be on my side."

Storm chuckled. "I think most of the new houses have closets."

"That doesn't mean it makes sense."

"True enough. Anyway, you never answered my question."

She rolled her eyes. "_Of course_ he doesn't like getting dirty, Storm. Did you _really_ have to ask?"

"Maybe he has so many sets of clothes because it's almost impossible to be around you all day without being dragged through mud or thorny bushes?" Storm suggested. "Speaking of which, is that why he wears normal stuff most of the time now?"

She grinned. "Probably. He can learn, I guess."

"And so can you." Storm looked up at the leaves to hide his grin. "First you wear a dress at your wedding, and now I've been seeing you using the _stairs_ to get up to your new house. Are _you_ 'civilized' now?"

"I only—" Sky stopped, realizing her protests wouldn't do much good, and finally just huffed and looked away.

Soon enough they got to the aforementioned house—which they entered by climbing the tree and going through the window—and found the new butler reading by the window and the prince doing the same by the fireplace. The latter smiled when he saw them and put his book down so that he could pull Sky into his arms and kiss her. Storm waited, amused.

"Do you have anything _really_ important to do today?" Sky asked when the kiss was over. "Or tomorrow?"

"When have I ever had anything more important than you?" Thranduil asked, going in for another kiss.

"Says the elf who used to avoid us like the plague," Storm said to Galion, who was politely keeping his eyes on his book. "Are you two going to keep smooching, or are we going to tell him what we're doing?"

"I look forward to the day _you_ fall in love, Coryn," Thranduil murmured.

"Can't let that happen, sorry," Storm told him. "Too many people I've teased would have a chance for revenge."

"I _do_ have a few plans," Sky agreed. "Now come on, we have a long way to run." She took Thranduil's hand and pulled him toward the window. "You, too," she told Galion, catching his sleeve as they passed. The butler let himself be pulled along, though he had an expression reminiscent of a deer about to be shot.

"Look at that, you're part of the family now," Storm remarked to him with a grin.

. . . . . .

They met Kilvara and Felrion at the river, then took off to the south by way of the trees, and Thranduil was surprised to discover that he was no longer the least confident climber in the group, although he suspected Galion was much more coordinated than he realized. It was nice to have company, though; Eithryn, Coryn, and Kilvara leapt distances that Thranduil would never stop flinching at, and while Felrion holding a weapon was a catastrophe waiting to happen, even he was fearless above a drop that would have broken every bone in his body. Thranduil liked to watch all of them, but especially his wife. There was no question in his mind as to which of the four was the most graceful.

Heights had never bothered Sky. She'd climbed before she'd learned to walk, scrambled to the canopy before Storm had deemed her old enough to hold a weapon, and gone weeks at a time without touching the ground. It had been the Sindar who had made the paths in the forest, who put buildings on the ground, who had told them to wear armor to protect themselves where their natural agility had always sufficed. Well, the Sindar had changed the Woodland Realm, but they could not change the wood elves. They would still make their houses in the trees, and this generation of elflings would still risk life and limb climbing until their coordination was perfect and they could balance on branches as narrow as their arms. The only difference was that now, those skills would be put to use in battle, because the world was changing.

Oropher was right, as much as she hated to admit it. The orcs multiplied every year, and there were rumors of an evil growing in the outside world. Greenwood could not stay isolated forever, and a few talented elves with bows would no longer be enough. She didn't like the way Oropher did things, but much of what he did needed to happen.

Enough with the serious thoughts. The orcs weren't here right now, and it was a beautiful spring day. She doubled back to join Thranduil.

"You do not have to stay with me," he told her as he scaled a trunk to get to where she stood.

"But I want to," she protested as she took his hand and helped to pull him up. "And you seem to need the help."

"I apologize that I am not Silvan," he sighed.

"Don't," she said. "And also don't ask where we're going, because it's a secret."

He chuckled. "I thought as much. But fear not, I can be patient."

"No, you can't."

"I can be more patient than you," he conceded.

She laughed.

. . . . . .

A few minutes later, the elves came to a stop in the lower branches of a pine. Eithryn didn't waste any time explaining their objective. "Last elf to tame an elk and ride it back here has to crawl through a mud pit." She dropped silently to the ground and disappeared.

Thranduil groaned. These were not just any elk they were talking about, either; they were fiercer and longer-lived than those found outside of Greenwood, not to mention the bulls could throw a horse twenty feet with their massive antlers. The elves rarely hunted these beasts, even the females, because of the potential to get one's head caved in.

He turned to give Coryn an incredulous look, but found that he and Galion were the only ones left, the butler apparently in a state of shock from his horror at the consequences of losing. The prince realized he needed to think of something if _he_ was going to avoid those.

. . . . . .

Sky was the first to come upon an elk—three, in fact, all cows. They were upwind of her, so she could have snuck up on them easily, but she had something else in mind. She went on.

. . . . . .

Felrion had a plan. He scanned the ground, but he wasn't looking for signs of elk; he was looking for a plant—or rather, several plants. There was one in particular that he hoped to find—a flower with a smell that would calm the creatures.

. . . . . .

Storm pretended not to look at the yearling bull, instead looking at the ground and wandering in circles like he'd lost something and pretending not to notice the elk even when it snorted and pawed warningly. It took a while, but eventually the elk put its head down to graze. Storm kept circling; soon he was close enough to hear its breathing, then close enough that he could have leapt onto its back.

Also close enough for one of its massive hooves to clip his shoulder when it reared suddenly. He scrambled away and ran, barely making it up a tree before being crushed to a pulp.

"Outsmarted by an elk," he muttered as the beast bashed its head repeatedly into the tree in an attempt to shake Storm out.

. . . . . .

To say the cow elk was surprised when an elf landed on her back was an understatement. She went into a bucking fit, then charged straight at a tree, turning at the last moment so that her side thudded into the bark.

Kilvara pulled her leg out of the way and held on for dear life.

. . . . . .

Galion didn't want to be overly dramatic, but he was quite sure he was going to lose. He didn't know what do with a horse, much less an elk. The others, on the other hand, were all skilled warriors, with the exception of Felrion, who, Galion was sure, had a few tricks up his sleeve all the same. Galion would not have been averse to losing if not for the punishment, which he suspected was intended specifically to get him and the prince to do their best. Still, his best wouldn't be enough to save him. It seemed he had no choice but to prepare himself. He started by finding a mud puddle and placing his hand in it—putting his hand near it—putting his hand on the grass—there. Then he lifted his hand and moved it slightly closer to the dirt—closer, closer—it was on the dirt. He resisted the urge to recoil and brush the dust from his hand. Now to put it into—put it closer to—imagine putting it into the mud. Now to stop fantasizing about begging King Oropher for asylum; he worked for the princess, and the king would probably just laugh anyway. He... had... to... touch... it...

Something snuffled the back of his neck. Galion froze, then slowly turned his head.

The elk calf blinked at him curiously.

Galion gulped. Wherever the calf's mother was, she was going to be very angry when she saw an elf near her baby. He backed away very slowly.

The calf took a step forward on its long legs.

Galion moved faster.

So did the calf.

Galion broke into a run. The calf, thinking this was a wonderful game, chased after him and, despite its wobbly-looking legs and small body, made it to the targeted tree long before Galion. The elf scrambled to turn around and was again headed off. He tried a new strategy—holding still in the hope the calf would wander back to its mother.

The calf sniffed him, wondering what form of creature this was. Its whiskers tickled Galion's hand, but the butler didn't move. Finally the calf turned away, but only to prance around Galion in what was clearly an invitation to play. Galion tried not to look at it, but it was impossible. The little animal was just too cute. When it stopped and regarded him sadly, his heart melted and he knelt down and held his hand out to the calf, who pranced over with its comically large ears held high as if to say it had known he'd give in.

. . . . . .

Thranduil was determined to catch an elk.

The days when Eithryn and her brother had been constantly one step ahead of him were long gone. He was no longer the naïve elf who expected the Silvan elves to be easily shaped into meek, tame creatures and who thought that locking Eithryn in a cellar would mean he would be free of her the rest of the day; nor did he flinch when elves unexpectedly appeared behind him or arrows shot past his head. He had grown into his role as prince, and surely a prince could figure out how to tame one of the elk of his realm. An elk ought to be easy compared to his wife, anyway.

He paused in his attempt at tracking and tried to listen to the forest like the Silvan elves had showed him. He reached out to the trees with his mind, feeling their emotions... they seemed curious, if trees could be curious. He was sure that gnarly one over there was laughing at him... not that trees could laugh. _Show me an elk_, he thought to them.

They sent back a feeling that translated roughly to curiosity.

He rolled his eyes; this was stupid. Trees probably never noticed the creatures of the forest, anyway. He sent the overgrown shrubs an annoyed feeling.

And then he _tripped._

What was this? He could have sworn that root had not been there when he had looked. He looked suspiciously at the tree to which the root belonged, then shook his head disbelievingly and moved on. What was he thinking? Trees could not move. He brushed aside a branch in his way, and then another... and another... When he looked back, the path was clear.

Surely not.

Well, he was in charge of these trees. Capable of movement or not, they ought to show him some respect. A wave of scorn seemed to wash through the trees as he communicated that to them.

Thranduil groaned. He was having an argument with _trees_. So much for being in control of his life now. _You WILL obey me,_ he ordered.

A twig smacked him in the face. He spun on the culprit. _ENOUGH! I am your master!_

An acorn fell on his head. That was the last straw. "ALL I WANTED WAS AN ELK, YOU WORTHLESS PLANT!"

"Um, Thranduil?" his wife asked, descending from another tree. "Is there a reason you're yelling at the poor tree?"

The prince felt his face turning red. "I had thought the trees would be more intelligent than the average slug," he growled, trying to hide his embarrassment.

"Watch what you say about my forest," she scolded.

Before he could stop himself, he snapped, "_Your_ forest is nothing more than a worthless pile of firewood."

Now, insulting a Silvan elf's forest is like insulting a dwarf's caverns, which is to say Thranduil probably should not have done it if he valued his life. The way Eithryn stiffened told him as much. "Oh, so you're going to start _that_, are you?" she purred dangerously. "Very well, then." She stalked around him like a wildcat playing with her prey, eyes glittering dangerously. "You should learn to watch your tongue." She vanished into the trees.

Thranduil, his anger played out, realized he had just gotten himself into a very bad situation.

**_Remember when Gimli was ranting about Moria being called a mine? That's what I was thinking of when I wrote the "dwarf's caverns" thing._**

**_I think insulting a forest would be a good way to get in a fight with Legolas, too._**

**_Update: Yes, I'm going to come back to this story. I just got writer's block and then I started a new story and I sort of got distracted... forgive me._**


	17. To Catch an Elk--Part 2

_**I've updated all 3 of my stories in the past week! I'm so proud of myself. It's about time with this one, too.**_

Felrion heard the shouting as he plucked a handful of herbs and looked up, but then he shrugged and pocketed the plants, figuring that if anyone was actually hurt, Thranduil would not sound so angry. Most likely he and Eithryn were in a fight again. As much as their relationship had changed, they seemed to like to remind him that they were the same elves who had snapped at each other on that very first patrol some five hundred years ago.

Ah, here was the kind of flower he'd been looking for. Now he could start mixing the plants.

. . . . . .

The cow elk spun in a full circle, then fell to her knees; Kilvara had to dive from the animal's back to keep herself from being squashed as the elk rolled, and then vault back on as soon as the beast rose again.

The elk twisted its neck to snap at her unwanted passenger, whose only defense was to shove the furry muzzle away with a firm "_No_."

The elk gave one more small buck and then, tired of the pointless battle, dropped her head to crop off a mouthful of juicy grass.

"See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" Kilvara panted, patting the elk's neck.

. . . . . .

The calf butted Galion with its head and took off the other way, but the elf was too fast for it and tagged the calf back before it could get out of reach, then spun around to flee, but somehow the calf was already in his way. He turned again just in time for the calf to slam into him... from the first direction again?

He understood when two matching brown heads with oversized ears loomed over him as he lay on the ground.

. . . . . .

Storm, having escaped from his tree-prison, was following the trees' directions to a hopefully nicer elk when he heard muttering from the leaves. "Stupid Sindar; just because he's the king's son, he thinks he can say anything he wants. No wonder the trees won't obey him..."

They were at it again. Storm muffled a snicker.

. . . . . .

Thranduil kept a wary eye on the trees as he continued his search, but they seemed content to let his wife avenge them. He was still having difficulty believing that the forest was as intelligent as the Silvan elves gave it credit for, but he was not going to question it yet, just in case. Besides, he was sure at least one of the Silvan elves had tamed an elk by now.

It was in the process of double-checking his path for the roots of any trees that were feeling particularly uncooperative that he came across the tracks of an especially large elk. A bull, probably, and not one he was eager to meet... But then again, he had already lost time, and Eithryn would likely be coming after him soon. The thought of his wife made him wince; he was not proud of how he had lost his temper. It had simply been too humiliating to have her catch him being embarrassed by _trees_, of all things...

Of course, she was probably distracted by her quest for revenge. Ironically, if he hurried, this might be his best chance yet to beat her in one of her games.

Hmm.

. . . . . .

Felrion held as still as stone as the elderly bull sniffed the reeds in the healer's outstretched hand. The elf had been confident in the calming effects of the scented mixture he had applied to himself, but he found himself thinking over and over that the mixture had never been tested on elk before...

He heaved a sigh of relief as the old elk crunched into the reeds cheerfully, keeping its small but sharp pair of antlers far away from its new friend.

. . . . . .

The twin calves watched Galion curiously as he frantically brushed the dust off his clothes and then off his hands, but just as he finished they both pricked up their ears and ran past him. Galion turned to see what had so excited them and found himself face-to-face with a very large and angry-looking cow elk.

. . . . . .

Storm rolled under two pairs of elk legs, carefully avoiding the slashing hooves, and coming back to his feet again on the other side. The young cow elk kicked at him, but not too hard. She was little more than a baby, too young to have her own calf but too old to stay with her mother, and she was enjoying her new playmate too much to break him just yet.

The elf was counting on that as he hopped onto her back.

To the elk, this was just another part of the game, and she pranced in a circle, playfully nipping at Storm.

"Oh, yeah?" the elf laughed, ruffling the elk's ears fondly. "You're a friendly girl, aren't you? Want to meet my friends?"

The elk didn't speak Silvan, but she was intrigued by Storm's tone.

"They'll play with you," Storm promised. "Come on. This way." He turned the elk's head in the proper direction and tapped his heels against her sides.

The elk broke into a trot, eager to please her new friend.

. . . . . .

"At least mine won't bite me," Felrion said in response to Kilvara's snort of amusement as the she-elf kicked her reluctant mount into the clearing. The healer patted the nose of his sleepy-eyed bull and handed the elk another handful of grass.

"Yours might not count," Kilvara teased, failing to move her elk away from a tasty patch of clover.

"Sky did say tame," Felrion returned calmly. "Yours is barely tame." The cow elk proved his point by giving a small buck that almost jolted the surprised Kilvara off her back.

"Yours isn't tame, it's half asleep," Kilvara told him as they both turned toward the sound of approaching hoofbeats. She was about to add that the size of its antlers made her wonder if it was half deer, but the sight before her made her forget the thought entirely.

"Speaking of tame..." Felrion shook his head, amazed.

"He did win _Sky_ over," Kilvara pointed out.

Felrion just laughed, because walking toward them, followed by not one but _three_ elk, two of them very young calves, was a very confused butler. To the great amusement of the two elves, the mother elk snaked her great head around Felrion's shoulders to give him an affectionate slurp on the cheek.

. . . . . .

His wife was watching him. Thranduil knew it.

He could not _see _her, of course, but he had long ago learned not to trust his sight or hearing where she was concerned, instead relying on a sixth sense, the one that had the hairs on the back of his neck standing up whenever something was about to trip him or land on his head. She was there, he was certain.

But so was the elk. It was a magnificent specimen, with antlers twice as wide as the elven prince; he knew it to be his equal. It was capable of killing him, certainly, but he saw other possibilities, too, not the least of which was impressing his wife for perhaps the first time.

The beast was resting now, but some inner sense told Thranduil that it was not asleep, despite its closed eyes and drooping ears. Perhaps it was a good thing Eithryn was watching, the prince thought. She could likely keep him from being crushed to death if such an outcome appeared likely.

On the other hand, he might never live it down if he came to his senses and walked away now, which was certainly the wiser course of action. Instead, he found himself walking toward the elk openly, without any hint of stealth.

The bull lazily opened one eye to regard the intruder.

"Hello, my friend," Thranduil said as confidently as he could manage.

The bull was not impressed.

"What a marvelous creature you are," Thranduil told it, seeing the bull's muscles ripple as it turned its huge head for a better look at him. "Truly, you are the king of beasts."

The bull flicked an ear, bored by the puny elf's talk.

Thranduil sat down on a stump, only trembling a little. "We could be great together, you and I," he continued, knowing that his words likely did not matter much. "Imagine my father's face if he saw me astride a great elk. And you would have the best feed in Greenwood," he said, not knowing what motivated an elk, or even whether the bull understood him.

Now, the bull had met many beings in his long life, including many elves, but he had never known one to sit on a stump and talk to him. In his experience, if an elf spoke to him, it was while backing slowly away with its hands in the air before it. Unlike their more mundane kin, the elk of Greenwood had some grasp of the higher emotions, and this one understood courage very well. With an ease that seemed impossible in such a heavy creature, the bull rose to its full height of over seven feet.

Thranduil pulled in shallow breaths as the great elk approached him, knowing that one swipe of his heavy antlers could probably end his life. Still, he didn't blink as the bull's fist-size eyes came within feet of his. He was sure his heart did not beat for several seconds.

And then Thranduil heard a screech, and something small and gray slammed into the elk, flapping fiercely. The bull lunged to the side—its antlers luckily passed above the prince's head—and it reared, kicking out at the attacker, which shot out of range as quickly as it had come. The bull eyed Thranduil suspiciously, but then it understood as a smaller elf, a female, dropped down next to it. The elk spun, thinking to knock her down and trample her, but she vaulted easily over its back and danced away, laughing.

"_Eithryn,_" Thranduil growled.

She paid no attention to him as she darted in circles around the bull, herding it away from the prince and then leaping onto its back and holding on tight as the beast exploded into a storm of twisting and bucking.

Thranduil, meanwhile, suddenly found himself occupied with another problem as a ball of feathers latched onto his arm and began pecking him with its sharp, curved beak.

. . . . . .

"We're only missing Sky and Thranduil," Kilvara observed dryly.

"It could be a while," Storm agreed, patting one of Galion's young friends.

. . . . . .

The bull was still bucking when Thranduil finally managed to restrain the falcon in his cloak, but the prince's wife didn't seem bothered by the elk's struggle except on the occasions when the bull swept one of his great antlers into her; the she-elf couldn't dodge without losing her grip, so she had no choice but to endure the blows and hope they didn't break any ribs.

Thranduil felt sick as he heard the _crack_ from the latest hit. "Eithryn! Enough!"

As usual, his command had about as much effect as if it had been directed at a rock—on his wife, that was. The bull heard his voice and met his gaze, and in that moment, Thranduil knew they were thinking along the same lines.

Sky, who had been concentrating fully on the bull, noticed that her husband was no longer battling the falcon just in time to yelp as Thranduil slammed into her, making her lose her grip on the elk. The two elves tumbled to the ground, and the prince quickly pinned Sky down before she could cause any further mischief.

The bull, who hadn't batted an eye throughout the whole maneuver, lowered his head to sniff at the prisoner as, behind him, the falcon freed itself from the cloak and flew up to a branch to watch.

Sky struggled briefly, but calmed as she realized that the bull wasn't about to crush them after all; in fact, it was looking at the prince as if waiting for further instruction.

"You look surprised," Thranduil noted with a smirk; indeed, his wife's eyes were as wide as he had ever seen them.

She composed herself quickly. "I was sure you'd end up with a calf or something." She wasn't about to admit to him that she'd interfered out of fear for her husband's life.

The prince raised an eyebrow.

. . . . . .

Storm moved up beside Thranduil and clapped his brother-in-law on the shoulder. "We are witnessing a rare event," he told the prince.

"Perhaps it will not be so rare anymore," Thranduil responded. "Though I am certain it will always be entertaining."

"Oh, shut up," Sky grumbled, throwing a handful of mud at them before resuming her journey. Thranduil had made sure they found the largest mud puddle in the forest for her to crawl through.

The bull elk came up on Thranduil's other side and prodded him gently with its nose, but leapt away when, on Sky's command, the falcon dove out of the air to assault the prince, and off to the side, Kilvara wondered to Felrion if the king's stable had any stalls big enough to accommodate the elk's antlers.

**_And that's how Thranduil got his elk. Well, the first one, anyway._**


	18. Diplomacy

**_Hello. We're about to meet two new characters, so I thought I should go over the ones we have so far. Here are Tolkien's characters (though obviously I fleshed them out a little):_**

**_Thranduil: Son of Oropher, currently prince of Greenwood. Sindarin elf with silver-blond hair and pale blue eyes._**

**_Oropher: Thranduil's dad, and the king of Greenwood. Looks pretty similar to Thranduil, but slightly taller. Sindarin._**

**_Galion: Thranduil's butler; mortal enemy of all dirt. Silvan elf with brown hair and brown eyes._**

**_Gil-Galad: High King of the Noldor, also known as Ereinion. Black hair, brown eyes; uses a spear as a weapon. Good friend of Eithryn; Oropher doesn't like him, but the feeling isn't mutual._**

**_And these are my characters:_**

**_Eithryn (a.k.a. Skyfire): Silvan elf with no respect for rules. Married Thranduil, but doesn't get along too well with her father-in-law. Dark copperish hair and bright green eyes. Most Silvan elves call her Sky._**

**_Coryn (a.k.a. Stormfire): Sky's brother, loves to tease; doesn't start as much trouble as his sister, but is always eager to join in her mischief. Green and brown eyes, with the colors more separated than in hazel; people often assume his copper hair is stained with charcoal because of the darker streaks in it. Most Silvan elves call him Storm._**

**_Kilvara: Eithryn's best friend; Silvan elf with red hair and green eyes, but they aren't as bright as Eithryn's. Tries to stay on Oropher's good side, but is ultimately loyal to her friends._**

**_Felrion: Another of Eithryn and Coryn's friends; Silvan elf with light brown hair and hazel eyes. A healer who has no skill whatsoever with weapons. Usually stays out of Oropher's way, but is happy to help his friends out if they underestimate the king._**

**_Taensirion: One of Oropher's most trusted friends, fiercely loyal to the king, but not afraid to go against him if he believes Oropher is wrong. Sindarin elf with blond hair, no clue what color his eyes are._**

"Oh, relax," Sky huffed at her husband, rubbing his arm soothingly despite her tone. "Amdir and your father are practically best friends. They're not going to attack us."

"It is not Amdir who concerns me," Thranduil said, directing his icy stare at a pair of male elves who were eyeing his wife a little too curiously (both of whom suddenly became very interested in telling each other about their days, even though the sun had only risen a few hours before).

Sky stretched up to kiss him on the cheek. "You're adorable."

Kilvara, the other member of their diplomatic party, poked Thranduil in the ribs. "Don't you try to keep Sky from having fun," she warned the prince. "It won't work, but it _will_ earn you a good kick from one of us."

Thranduil chuckled. "So violent."

"It's a Silvan thing," Sky informed him. "Are we almost there?"

"Patience, love," he laughed. "Have you truly never been to Lórien? I was under the impression you had seen every corner of Middle-Earth."

She shrugged. "I never got the chance, especially because your father doesn't trust me with diplomatic missions."

"I wonder why," Thranduil said under his breath. Eithryn didn't hear him, but Kilvara smirked.

"Prince Thranduil?"

They turned to face the speaker, a young blond elf (but weren't all the elves here blond?) with the symbol of Lórien—a Mallorn leaf—on his collar. "Indeed," Thranduil replied. "And you? I do not remember encountering you on any of my previous visits."

The elf bowed. "You would not, as I am newly appointed to my station. I am Haldir, the youngest and—" He grinned. "—best captain of the Realm."

Thranduil glanced at his wife, correctly guessing that she would be wearing a look of approval at the young elf's humor. "Well met, Haldir of Lórien. I am, as you guessed, Prince Thranduil, and this is my wife, Eithryn."

"Not a princess," the stubborn she-elf added.

Haldir nodded as if he agreed completely and turned to Kilvara. "And who is this fair maiden?"

The red-haired elf blushed. "My name is Kilvara. My king sends me here often."

Sky raised an eyebrow at Thranduil as Haldir smiled. "I look forward to getting to know you, Lady Kilvara," the soldier told her—and winked. "But first, I believe you have an audience with my king," he added to the prince.

"Why is a captain running errands?" Thranduil asked as they turned for the hall where King Amdir always met Greenwood's emissaries.

"The king likes to keep his servants humble," was Haldir's reply.

Thranduil, who knew King Amdir well, had expected such an answer.

. . . . . .

"So this is Greenwood's new princess?" Lórien's king asked, leaning forward on his throne to scrutinize Eithryn with his deep blue eyes. "Pretty."

Sky wasn't impressed. "Get a sword, and we'll see how well 'pretty' describes me."

Thranduil reflected on the wisdom (or lack thereof) of asking his father to let him bring Eithryn along. He thought he could trust Amdir—Lórien's king was not hotheaded like Oropher, but he was proud, and Thranduil wondered how he would react to Eithryn's irreverent manner. Perhaps they should not have left Kilvara outside... Not that he expected a fight, of course; the she-elf could just be surprisingly diplomatic. And, of course, if the worst somehow happened, he would be glad to have her there.

He should not have worried; Amdir barked a laugh and rocked back into his seat. "And you say Oropher does not like her?" he asked Thranduil incredulously. "They seem very much alike to me."

The prince shrugged. "My father does not get along with himself at times."

"True."

"Did you just compare me to Oropher?" Sky demanded indignantly.

"I did." Amdir only grinned at Sky's furious glare. "Peace, little Silvan elf, I meant no insult. I like Oropher, despite his flaws."

"Flaws which you just said I had," she pointed out.

"You misunderstand me," the king corrected. "I admire Oropher's fire. The flaws I refer to are his distrust of other races and—" He winked. "—that he cannot take a joke."

That brought a grin to Sky's face, but then she frowned and looked at her husband. "I feel manipulated."

"You should," he informed her.

Amdir chuckled.

. . . . . .

"To put it simply, he plays with people," Thranduil explained to his wife a few minutes later as they went to find their friend. "It is his favorite way to entertain himself."

"I noticed," Eithryn said. At one point, the king had told his guards that the first one to run around the hall a hundred times would get a promotion, and all sixteen of them had immediately taken off. "Not that I can blame him." She whistled, and her falcon—which was a decade older now—swooped down to settle on her arm.

Thranduil snickered, thinking that his wife's "suggestions" whenever Galion was foolish enough to ask her if she needed anything were often more interesting than anything he had seen Amdir come up with. "All the same, he is brilliant. He invented several of the maneuvers used by our army, you know."

"In that case, I may have to slap him," the Silvan elf decided. She would never understand why her poor husband was occasionally forced to watch hundreds of elves marching in formation for hours at a time. The falcon, whose name was Aduial—the Sindarin word for twilight—puffed out her feathers as though she agreed.

"A Silvan thing, indeed," Thranduil muttered to himself. He needed to find the two she-elves something non-living to shoot at.

The two elves came around a tree, and Thranduil almost ran into his wife as she stopped dead. "What—?"

"Shh!" she hissed, yanking him back behind the tree's trunk (the size of which—twenty elves could have stood with their backs to the trunk and stretched out their arms without touching—would have been only slightly below average in the oldest parts of Greenwood). "Look!"

Thranduil looked. "Kilvara is talking with... Haldir, is it not?"

"She's _laughing_," Eithryn moaned, as if that fact had some significance. "They're both laughing."

Thranduil waited patiently; being confused hardly surprised him anymore.

"And she's leaning toward him," Eithryn added. "And _blushing_."

Ah. "And that is unacceptable, is it?"

"It's not _right_," Eithryn grumbled. "She's not supposed to fall in love with a... a..."

"Silvan elf?" Thranduil asked dryly. "And a reasonably skilled soldier, by the look of him."

The she-elf snapped her fingers. "That's it. He's a soldier. She's not supposed to marry a soldier."

Thranduil sighed and put his hand around his wife's shoulders to guide her away from the elves in question. "I do not believe that is for us to decide, my love."

Eithryn huffed, but let him pull her along. "But it's not right!" she repeated.

"Then what is?"

She didn't answer, but Thranduil thought he knew what she had in mind. "If they had any interest in each other, I am sure it would have been clear long ago," he pointed out.

"Except that Kilvara's waiting for him to do something, and _he's_ waiting for _her_. And she can't marry an elf from another kingdom."

"It has happened before," Thranduil reminded her, rather shocked that Eithryn, who was often open-minded to a fault, would hold such a belief in regard to Greenwood and Lórien.

She shook her head. "Not involving anyone who was really important. Haldir's a captain, remember, and your father practically made up a position just for Kilvara."

Thranduil chuckled at that comment. "We needed a Captain of the Guard anyway," he corrected. "Our friend was simply the best choice."

"What does she do, anyway?" Eithryn wondered.

"She protects the king and the realm," Thranduil answered without a moment's hesitation. He had spoken that phrase to a great many curious Silvan elves recently.

"And we don't? Also, where are we going?" she asked, seeming to suddenly realize that they were moving away from the part of the forest that was occupied.

In answer, Thranduil pointed into the trees.

"Yes, I can see tha—Oh." Somehow she had missed the elk standing not five trees away. The bull—no less magnificent than it had been ten years before—lifted its head to regard them as it chewed a juicy mouthful of grass and then wandered over to nudge Thranduil with its heavy head.

"Hello, Brethil," Thranduil said absentmindedly, rubbing the elk's neck—the beast had earned its name by shredding an innocent birch tree while removing the velvet from its antlers the first year after it befriended the elven prince. The falcon, deciding she didn't want to be left out, pecked Eithryn's shoulder until the she-elf reached up to stroke her feathers.

"And why is everyone acting like 'The Guard' is new when we've had guards around since the first time I snuck into your father's house?" Eithryn complained.

Thranduil smirked, thinking to himself that his wife would probably spontaneously combust if she heard about all the titles they had possessed in Doriath.

"_Anyway_," Eithryn continued, "we've got to do something about it, because Kilvara _can't_ fall in love with Haldir."

Thranduil was afraid to get swept up in this one. "Hmm."

. . . . . .

"—and in the meantime, we were all cleaning up as fast as we could in case they couldn't distract Oropher," Kilvara finished, grinning in the moonlight.

Haldir laughed as Thranduil wrinkled his nose at the memory of their first misadventure. "Someday I really must tell my father what happened," the prince mused.

"He'd probably kill all four of us," Eithryn pointed out without looking up from the game she was playing with Amdir—the king had called it "chess". The Silvan elf had picked up the rules with her usual speed, and now Thranduil was certain both were cheating whenever the other looked away; thus, his wife was focused for once in her life.

"No, he would spare you for my sake, and Kilvara because he trusts her," the prince disagreed. "Only your brother and I would be executed. Kilvara, my father has a title, remember?"

"Amdir?" Eithryn asked, making Thranduil put his head in his hands, though the king was too busy watching her move her piece to notice. "Checkmate."

"What?" The king stared at the pieces disbelievingly. "How did...? You moved your knight while I was not looking!"

"_You_ moved my knight. I only put it back."

"I would have won had you not cheated."

"If _we_ hadn't cheated, I would have won faster!"

"I would have _slaughtered_ you, silly little tree-lover, and you know it!"

"That's quite a claim coming from someone whose army couldn't even drive trolls out of their forest without our help!"

"I _let_ your people remove those trolls!"

"Ha! Right!"

"How DARE you insult me, you green-eyed pixie?"

Here Thranduil decided to separate the two elves before weapons could be drawn, but Eithryn jumped up on the table so that she could still taunt Amdir. "What are you going to do about it?" She snickered and added, "Orc-lover."

Thranduil reflected on how peaceful and quiet Lórien had been until only a few minutes ago. "King Amdir, please—"

"ORC-LOVER? YOU'LL PAY FOR THAT, YOU SLIMY, GNAT-BRAINED, GOBLIN-KISSING—"

. . . . . .

"And then you did _what_?" Oropher asked in the tone he normally reserved for his daughter-in-law.

Thranduil cleared his throat. "I punched him."

"You punched King Amdir."

The prince swallowed and nodded. "Yes."

Oropher stared at him for what seemed like several minutes. "I see."

"He insulted Eithryn," Thranduil said defensively.

"They weren't even _good_ insults," his wife sighed, shaking her head.

"Hush," he snapped.

"Quiet, both of you!" Oropher barked, making Thranduil cower. "You are lucky Amdir saw the humor in the situation. You understand, of course, that you could have started a war?"

"Yes, father," Thranduil said meekly.

"Need I remind you that your behavior was _extremely_ unbefitting of a prince?"

"No, father."

"Good. Now go home and..." Oropher pinched the bridge of his nose. "...think about your behavior. Do not speak to me again until you are ready to act like an adult. And do not even _think _about visiting Lórien for the next century!"

"Yes, father." Thranduil practically ran out of the room. His wife started to follow him, holding her hand over her mouth to muffle her snickering.

"And Eithryn?" Oropher added.

She froze.

"If you value your life, you should pray that my son outlives me."

. . . . . .

"I'm not apologizing for this one," Sky told her husband when she caught up with him in the forest. "I was enjoying the name-calling."

He ignored her.

Sky rolled her eyes and smiled to herself. "So what are we going to do about Kilvara?" Haldir, unfazed by Thranduil's attack on his king, had practically made the she-elf promise to return to Lórien soon.

Thranduil groaned. "Can I not have a few days to recover my dignity?"

"This is urgent, prince. We have to make her realize that she and Felrion are meant for each other before she falls in love with Haldir."

"Surely you can do that without me."

Sky probably could have, but it wouldn't be the same without her husband involved. She waited for him to look back to see why she hadn't answered, then looked at him hopefully, making sure her eyes were as big as possible.

Thranduil didn't have a chance. "When do we start?"

"Tomorrow," Sky said smugly.

Thranduil sighed, as he often seemed to do around his wife.

"You know," the Silvan elf observed a few minutes later, "It was probably smart of Amdir not to mention in his letter that he hit you back."

**_I'll bet this made a fun story to tell Legolas._**


	19. Matchmakers

**_Much silliness this time. I hope you enjoy it._**

Sky shook Thranduil awake long before dawn on the morning after their return home. "I'm thinking we should talk to Felrion first," she told him as soon as his eyes focused on her.

"Hmm?" Thranduil's mind was still halfway in the realm of dreams, where he was trying to explain to his father why every other civilization in the world had declared war on Greenwood. He wondered blearily if the healer knew what he had done to offend the halflings.

"Kilvara and Felrion, remember?" Sky reminded him, eyes glinting with excitement.

Thranduil groaned, remembering now. "Never a moment's rest with you, is there?"

Sky shrugged. "You married me."

"A moment of insanity," the prince grumbled.

The Silvan elf smirked at that. "You know you need me."

Thranduil smiled despite himself. "Truly, I do." He tried to kiss her, but she pulled away.

"Friends first, kissing later," she told him with mock sternness.

"No need to be so cruel."

"I have to motivate you somehow," she returned.

The prince sighed and rolled out of bed, pushing his wife in the direction of the kitchen. "Go make breakfast, if you are so impatient."

She laughed and went off to do just that.

. . . . . .

Felrion was wide awake and opening the door moments after the knock came; after all, healers tended to get a lot of emergency visits. Besides, it was too early for anyone to be coming just to talk to him.

Except for Sky, of course. She'd never been one to respect schedules; Felrion knew that as well as anyone.

Many elves would have been annoyed at being woken up before the sun rose—Thranduil certainly didn't look too happy about being dragged here, Felrion observed with amusement—but the healer was often called upon at odd times, and anyway, he had missed his friends. "Come in."

. . . . . .

A few minutes later, Felrion was chewing a piece of toast while Sky told him about their trip. "It's really quite a pretty place," she admitted. "Golden during the day and silver at night. Granted, it needs a bit more green, but still."

"And Am—_King_ Amdir?" The healer quickly corrected himself when Thranduil cleared his throat; the prince couldn't let his wife's bad habits spread, after all.

"The poor elf is bored to death," the she-elf sighed.

"A monarch's job is not always an exciting one, despite what most elves believe," Thranduil agreed. "And poor Amdir does not have my dear wife to stir things up."

"Oh, Felrion, that reminds me—you'll never guess what happened!" Sky was only half acting; she was—as Thranduil would see it, at least—a little too eager to mess with her friend. "There was this elf named Haldir—he's Silvan, and pretty charming, really. Anyway, he and Kilvara got along well. _Really _well." She paused to see how the healer took that.

He might have frowned just the slightest bit. "Good for her, I suppose."

Sky gave being subtle another try. "And he's quite sure of himself, too, so I'll bet he'll try to convince her to stay for a while."

That comment had more of an effect. "You don't think she'll move there permanently, do you?" As he finished, Felrion bit his lip and looked down as if he'd said more than he'd meant to.

"I don't know—Haldir seemed rather patriotic, but they're both captains, and important ones, too. I'm not sure which king would be more willing to let them go. Honestly, as much trouble as I've gotten Kilvara into, Oropher might not be too sad to see her gone." That was stretching the truth—while Oropher had been frustrated by Kilvara's cooperation with Sky at times, Sky knew from Thranduil that the king was almost fond of her friend. After all, Kilvara was both unendingly loyal and quite skilled.

Felrion visibly slumped. "Oh."

Sky sighed. "Yeah. Of course, they might always decide they don't like each other after all, but they talked for a _long_ time." Even after Thranduil got himself arrested, in fact. "Anyway, we'll see you later. Oh, and if you see Storm, tell him, all right? Kilvara needs some teasing."

Felrion nodded, though he didn't look too excited at the idea.

"I am amazed he did not see that he was being manipulated," Thranduil observed a few minutes later as they wandered through the trees.

"We tell each other that sort of thing all the time," Sky pointed out. "It's called friendship. You should try it sometime."

"I have friends!"

Sky snorted. "Mine?"

Thranduil was quiet for a long time, and then he said, "I had close friends once. They are dead now."

Sky winced. He'd never told her about them. "I'm sorry."

He took her hand and squeezed it hard.

They walked for a while, and then Sky sighed. "You're afraid to get close to anyone else, aren't you?"

He didn't answer.

"You never really bonded with anyone here, besides me, and the only other elf you really love is your father. I always hoped that was just how you were."

She was always so much more perceptive than he gave her credit for.

"I can understand why," she added, looking up at him. "It just seems like a really sad way to live."

It was, Thranduil thought. "At least I have you now."

He expected her to smile, but instead she stopped and leaned into him. "And what if something happens to me?"

Thranduil felt like he'd been punched in the gut. "_Nothing_ will ever happen to you."

She just stared at him sadly. "But what if it does?"

Thranduil pulled her close so she wouldn't see the tears in his eyes. "It _will not_."

"But—"

"No."

Eithryn sighed softly. "I don't think you get to decide that."

He closed his eyes for a moment and then let go of her. "So what are we doing now?"

"Thranduil!"

He didn't blink, and Sky understood that the conversation was over for now. "We're going to talk to Kilvara. Or rather," she said, managing a smile, "you are."

. . . . . .

Kilvara drew her bow, aimed, and fired, then lowered the weapon to watch as the arrow plunged into the target five inches from the center.

Five inches!

"Distracted?" asked an amused voice behind her.

Poor Kilvara's heart skipped a beat as she froze in shock. "My lord!" she managed to gasp when she could breathe again.

"Indeed." Thranduil came around in front of her, hands clasped behind his back. "You are currently quite unfit for battle, I see."

She smiled sheepishly. "Luckily, you are not an orc."

He smirked. "Quite so." He studied her, and Kilvara shifted awkwardly; he might have been her best friend's husband, but she didn't think she would ever be quite comfortable around the prince when Sky wasn't there. "You are not the only one so distracted," Thranduil continued.

"I do not know what you mean."

Her use of more formal speech when she spoke directly to him had never bothered Thranduil before. "It would seem your interest in Captain Haldir does not sit well with our healer friend."

Kilvara blushed. "Felrion? You've—I fear you have been listening to Storm too much, Prince."

"Perhaps," Thranduil conceded in a tone that suggested he did not think that was much of a possibility at all. "I only hope a broken heart will not affect the quality of his work." With that, he turned and melted back into the forest, leaving the stunned Silvan elf behind him.

. . . . . .

Kilvara poked her head into the King's office that night and waited until he waved her in. "You are early," Oropher remarked as he signed a paper.

"I had nothing else to do tonight, my lord," she explained. In fact, the report she was due to give the king would be a welcome excuse from the confused flurry of thoughts Thranduil had set off in her mind.

"Your green-eyed friend is not planning any illegal escapades?"

Kilvara risked half a smile. "I have not heard from her at all today."

"That is worrying," Oropher said absently. "I may have to send someone out to find her. Kilvara, I am afraid I have one more thing to do before we speak. If you will be kind enough to wait, I will be back in a few minutes."

Kilvara nodded and sat down in the chair on her side of the desk to wait.

And wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Oropher's business must have been taking longer than expected. A king's work probably did that often, she supposed.

Finally she saw the flash of blond hair outside the door, but it was only Taensirion. "Good evening, Kilvara. Are you waiting for Oropher?"

"Good evening, Taensirion, and yes, I think his work's taking longer than he expected." She'd always found it easy to talk to the King's favorite advisor, even before the time they'd both been enlisted to help Sky and Thranduil get some time together despite Oropher's best efforts.

"I imagine he is trying to convince some uncooperative elf to sign some document or another," Taensirion joked, "or perhaps trying to resolve the chaos created by a certain she-elf." He winked, then glanced down the hall. "Ah, hello, Felrion. Are you meeting with Oropher tonight, too?"

Felrion? What was she going to say to him? Kilvara gulped.

"I fear the King is running rather late," Taensirion was saying. "At least you will have someone to talk to while you wait." If either of the Silvan elves had looked really closely, they might have seen the corner of the Sindar's lip twitch upward just the slightest bit.

Felrion moved into the doorway to see who Taensirion might be referring to. Oh, no, not Kilvara! He couldn't face her right now! He turned to ask Taensirion if he should come back later, but the blond elf was gone.

Kilvara was staring at the healer in panic. Was he really as upset as Thranduil thought? What if he was angry with her? Should she avoid talking about Haldir, or would that just make things worse?

Felrion couldn't meet her eyes. He knew he only had himself to blame for this; if he'd confessed his recently surfaced feelings to her, maybe she wouldn't be interested in this stranger from Lórien. But they'd always just been friends, and he'd been afraid it would only mess things up...

Felrion finally made himself look at her, but Kilvara averted her gaze to the wall. The healer quickly looked away again.

Kilvara continued to stare at the blank wall for a few moments before going to look out the window, desperately hoping to see Oropher, but he was not there.

Why did he have to be delayed today, of all days? The one day when Felrion was scheduled to meet with the king right after her, and the first time in her whole life when she didn't want to see him?

Felrion was thinking along the same lines, and he could come up with only one answer.

Sky.

Kilvara watched very determinedly out the window as if that would make the king appear, while Felrion chose to look through the wine bottles on Oropher's shelf—all of them were of the kinds that brought elves to the healer in search of cures for hangovers. The brown-haired elf did work up the courage to try to make eye contact once or twice, but Kilvara was apparently not interested in conversation. The healer sighed, wondering if there had ever been any hope, anyway.

Kilvara didn't understand why Felrion hadn't ever said anything; she'd given up hope years ago. He should have told her!

She had to have noticed that he was paying too much attention to her, Felrion was sure. That would explain why she wouldn't look at him; she felt bad. He wished she wouldn't, since she had every right to choose whom to marry.

Curse Storm for putting the idea in his head.

Poor Felrion, Kilvara thought. It must have been hard for him to hear that she'd struck up a relationship, however small, with a handsome young elf who lived so far away. She should have been the one to tell him.

Felrion hoped Kilvara wouldn't leave to be with that Lórien elf. At least they could still be friends if she stayed... he'd get used to watching them together eventually.

But wait, hadn't she only just met this other elf? What if...

Kilvara's fingers drummed on the windowsill. Was Haldir even worth all this? She barely knew him, and here she was about to let him get between her and one of her dearest friends.

Or was "friend" even the right word anymore?

Felrion suddenly couldn't breathe. Was it possible that there was still a chance?

Kilvara caught herself wondering how Storm could be right every time.

Now, Felrion thought. He had to ask now. "Kilvara, do y-y-you..." What was he doing? She was going to say no! For the first time in his life, the always-calm healer totally panicked.

Kilvara blurted out her answer before she fully comprehended what he was asking (and before Felrion had time to run). "Yes!"

Felrion almost fell over. "What?"

Kilvara had equally surprised herself. "What?"

. . . . . .

The group of elves standing just to the side of the window worked hard to muffle their laughter.

"You owe me, Silvan," Oropher mouthed.

"You know you enjoyed that," Sky whispered back.

Oropher couldn't disagree, and Thranduil, standing between them, had a fleeting hope that the two had found something in common.

Fleeting, because five seconds later Eithryn said she should have had Oropher help mix up the trade records earlier. It took Thranduil, Coryn, and Taensirion to keep the king quiet; reorganizing those records would take days, after all.

**_Ah, finally. I've been planning this for so long..._**


	20. Sweet Revenge

**_I'm having issues deciding what to write my next chapter about, so I decided to put this little story that I wrote a while ago on here. Enjoy._**

"What did you say this was?" Eithryn asked, sniffing the brown liquid.

"The merchant called it coffee," her father-in-law told her. "Now if you are going to try it, I would ask that you do so and then seek out my son so I do not have to worry about any of my new merchandise being broken."

Eithryn sipped from the small cup, made a face, and then shrugged and drained it. She handed the cup back to Oropher and bounced off.

Oropher smirked. If the rest of what the merchant had told him about the drink was true, his son might have a very interesting day.

. . . . . .

Thranduil was working on something important—he could never remember exactly what it was afterward—when his wife bounced in. "Hi," she said.

He stood and turned, smiling, but she was nowhere to be found. He frowned and turned back, and then cried out when he found her RIGHT THERE.

"This looks boring," she complained. "Why are you doing this instead of something interesting like killing orcs or exploring the forest or playing a game or being grumpy or something else you like to do instead? Or you could practice fighting or chase squirrels or go to Lothlorien or youknowwhatweshouldgorunfiftymilesyesthat'sagoodideacomeonlet'sgo." She dragged him out the door.

**_"And that, Legolas," Thranduil said to his son many, many years later, "is why you may not try the coffee."_**


	21. King and Prince

"Thank you for that report, Taensirion," Oropher told the blond elf with a nod. "Now, about the home that was crushed by a tree earlier this week..."

Across the room, between Greenwood's prince and princess, a hand crept to the snow-covered branch outside the open window.

"No one was hurt, but the building was—" Oropher cut off suddenly as a powdery chunk of snow exploded in his face. It was not hard to guess whom the culprit was, and the king instantly spun to face his daughter-in-law. "This time you have gone too..." Oropher's sentence was again cut short, this time when Eithryn pointed at her husband, who held up his snow-covered hands with a smirk.

Oropher did not seem to know what to make of that. "Thranduil!"

Whatever had possessed the prince to act in such a manner seemed to still be in effect, as there was no trace of an apology on his face. "Yes, father?"

Oropher narrowed his eyes, but then turned back to the other elves. "As I was saying..."

Sky leaned over to her husband. "Is he going to kill you after the meeting?"

Thranduil winked. "I know my limits."

. . . . . .

Sure enough, Oropher told his son to wait behind when the meeting ended, but he was half-smiling as he waited for an explanation. "Was it her idea?" he asked, indicating the green-eyed elf who waited by the doorway.

"For once, no," Eithryn answered for Thranduil, sounding proud.

The king highly doubted that she was _entirely_ innocent in the matter, but he decided not to argue the point. "If you wanted my attention, you could have simply asked," he joked, shaking his head at his son and turning to go.

Thranduil laughed as he followed Oropher out the door. "Ah, but father, I thought you would enjoy a moment of play. You are always so very busy, after all."

Oropher snorted, but his son had a point. "An inevitable part of being king, I fear," he sighed. "But I _am_ free this evening. It has been too long since we spent time together, has it not?"

"It has," Thranduil agreed, but he glanced back at his wife, who was following at a respectful distance, tossing a snowball from hand to hand.

"What are you looking at me for?" she wondered. "I can entertain myself for a few hours."

"I believe that is what we are afraid of," Oropher noted with a warning glare.

Sky grinned, but she knew how little time her husband got with his father these days, and that it was as much because of her as because of Oropher's occupation. "I promise I'll behave," she told them reluctantly, but sincerely.

Oropher actually threw back his head and laughed at that. "Oh, yes, I am _sure_ you will."

Thranduil gasped in anger. "_Father_!"

The king threw his son a doubtful look.

"She is not joking!" He turned back to his wife. "Are you?"

"I meant it," said Sky, who wasn't all that offended given that she hadn't exactly tried to earn Oropher's trust.

Thranduil was less forgiving, as he always was where his wife was involved, but he settled for a piercing glare at his father (who was not impressed, since he had invented that particular expression). "Where will you be, Eithryn?"

She shrugged. "With my friends, I suppose."

He nodded and set off with his father across the snowy ground. "Where shall we go?" After a moment of thought, he added, "Miraculously, I still have a butler, if that would affect our decision."

"I have five, and that fact does not surprise me, unlike your choices in life," Oropher said with a resigned chuckle. "How _do_ you put up with her?"

"I merely—Duck!" He dropped to the ground as a snowball shot through the air where his face had just been, and then rose again without a noticeable loss of dignity. His wife was suddenly nowhere to be seen.

"You merely duck?" Oropher, who had not heeded his son's warning, asked dryly as he brushed the snow out of his hair, sending a nasty glare at the trees behind them.

"Indeed," Thranduil agreed. "Snow, mud, arrows, falcons... though she does not throw mud often anymore, thankfully. At me, that is."

"Arrows," Oropher repeated with a shudder. He would never forget when he had personally experienced Eithryn's extraordinary aim, and he decided it had better stay that way if she was using his son for target practice.

. . . . . .

It didn't take Sky long to track her friends to Felrion's house, where she entered through the window to find her brother sitting in the corner reading a book and the other two by the other window, making a valiant effort to have a conversation despite their current inability to figure out how exactly they were supposed to do that. Both their heads turned as she entered, and both looked immensely relieved. "Sky!" they exclaimed at the same time.

"Hey," Sky returned, and she couldn't resist adding, "Storm, are you ready?"

Kilvara froze, and Felrion gulped. "Going somewhere?" the latter asked, with a hint of panic in his voice.

"Siblings only," Storm said, catching on. "Sorry."

"We thought you two might enjoy some time to yourselves," Sky added.

Felrion and Kilvara looked at each other, and Kilvara blurted, "I just remembered I have to go do... something..." as Felrion stammered something incoherent.

The copper-haired elves almost died laughing. "Kidding!" Sky managed to say.

"That's just sad," Storm noted.

"And you're cruel," Kilvara muttered.

Storm turned to his sister. "Maybe we _should _leave them alone; I mean, it's been _years_ now. They should be able to handle it."

Sky eyed their friends, who both had scared smiles like they were pretty sure Storm was kidding, but didn't want to risk saying anything just in case. "_Or_ we could spend the evening teaching them how to talk to each other."

"Let's do that, please," Kilvara agreed.

"I don't know if we—I mean, if you want—might be dangerous—" The poor healer never seemed to get a sentence out properly anymore—at least, not around a certain she-elf.

"I think he's trying to say, 'Be careful what you wish for,'" Sky put in.

"Yes, that," a relieved Felrion agreed.

. . . . . .

Meanwhile, Thranduil and his father were approaching the prince's home. "Should I be concerned?" Oropher asked.

Thranduil shrugged. "Galion removes some of the tripwires now," he told his father casually. "But it is simply not worth his time to disarm them all."

"If I did not know better, I would say you sounded proud."

Thranduil smiled.

"I truly do not understand," Oropher admitted as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

"You were never proud of Mother?" Thranduil turned as hoofbeats sounded off to the side and his magnificent elk trotted over to greet him. "Good evening, Brethil."

The bull head-butted him carefully in the chest, but still with enough force to send the elven prince back a few steps. Thranduil just laughed and scratched the elk behind the ears. "An extraordinary animal, is he not?" he teased his father. After all, the king had reacted with apparent irritation when his son brought the beast back years before.

What Thranduil did not know was that the king sent smirks at any other parents nearby whenever he saw his son with the elk, as though to ask what dangerous wild beasts _their_ children had tamed recently. "Yes, he is," the king sighed with mock annoyance. "And of course I was often proud of your mother. It was merely for _very_ different reasons."

Thranduil grinned and gave Brethil a goodbye pat before starting up the stairs. Oropher was careful to step only where his son did, knowing that the lack of any clear places to tie wires likely meant nothing, but both of them made it to the top in one piece. A pair of falcons eyed the king suspiciously as they entered the house, but apparently anyone who came with Thranduil had permission to enter.

They were greeted at the door by a very cheerful butler who, as always, bowed and greeted Oropher with remarkable manners for a Silvan elf (although most of them tried to be respectful, the king had to accept that it simply was not in their blood). "What may I get for you, my lords?"

"Wine, please," Thranduil told him. "The best we have."

Oropher nodded in agreement, and the butler vanished into the kitchen. "Miraculous, indeed," he told his son as they sat down at the table. "How is it that he has survived?"

Thranduil shrugged. "The same way I have, I suppose. He became her friend, and she is careful not to go too far for fear of losing that."

"I suppose that would not be an option for me," Oropher mused.

"If you would only make an effort—"

"We have had this conversation many times. I _have_ tried."

"Not as hard as you could."

"_Thranduil_."

"_Father_," the prince replied in a tone so similar that an eavesdropper might have thought the same elf had said it, "All you have ever done was try to reason with her so that she might be controlled. That does not work with her."

Oropher took a deep breath to calm himself as he accepted the wine Galion handed him. "And why should I try when she does not?"

"_She does_—she does try. It is simply in a different way than you are used to. She treats you as an _equal_, father, if one she does not very much like. Whereas you insist on acting as though she is a servant. As you do, I might add, with all the Silvan elves."

That drew an indignant gasp from Oropher. "I am the _king_," he growled at his son. "I expect even _Taensirion _to treat me with respect."

"And that is what Taensirion is accustomed—"

"Do not interrupt me, Thranduil. I was going to say I have attempted to—"

"You have not, and nor have you tried to understand—"

"_Nor has she!_"

"That does not mean _you_ cannot try to—" Neither elf noticed when Galion quietly took back their untouched wine to hide it until they calmed down.

"Why SHOULD I, when she refuses to do ANYTHING of use—" Oropher was half-shouting now, and his son's voice rose to meet the challenge.

"IF YOU WERE NOT TOO PROUD—"

"IF YOU HAD CHOSEN A PROPER WIFE—"

"DO _NOT_—"

"NO, YOU—"

"JUST _LISTEN_—"

"_THRANDUIL_, YOU—"

"—SHUT _UP_—"

"—DO NOT TELL ME TO—"

"—YOU ARROGANT, UNCARING—"

"_THRANDUIL! SIT DOWN AND SHUT YOUR MOUTH!_"

Silence fell as the two Sindar stared at each other from across the table, fuming, and finally Thranduil lowered himself slowly into his chair, still glaring defiantly at his father. After a few moments, Oropher did likewise and their identical icy blue eyes stayed narrowed at each other for a long time before Oropher finally said—stiffly—"Perhaps we should speak about something else."

. . . . . .

Storm put his hand on Felrion's shoulder as they watched the she-elves try to shoot each other's arrows out of the air (which they often succeeded in doing, although then they had to hunt through the snow for the wayward projectiles). "Don't worry, she thinks it's cute that you can't talk in front of her."

Felrion eyed him. "And why do you say that?"

"Because I asked her, and that's what she said," Storm answered matter-of-factly. "Amid a whole lot of blushing."

Felrion blinked a few times and looked back at Kilvara, who glanced at him at the same moment and thus almost shot Sky by accident.

"_I_ think you're both adorable," Storm added.

. . . . . .

"So..." Oropher began after several minutes of uncomfortable silence.

"Yes?" Thranduil sipped the wine that had been returned to his hand as soon as he and his father had ceased to shout at each other. He could not bring himself to be annoyed at his butler despite his vague feeling of being trained. _If you behave like a good prince, you may have your wine back._

Oropher knew he needed to steer clear of any mention of Eithryn, even though he was sure their talk would eventually find its way back to his son's favorite topic. "You have settled well here, I think. Better even than I hoped when we left Doriath."

Thranduil smiled. "I, too, am surprised, but yes, I find that I like the Silvan elves very much. They are so cheerful, and yet so brave. And I like the forest as well... even when it does not much like me."

Oropher decided not to comment on that bit—he still suspected his daughter-in-law had talked Thranduil into eating hallucinogenic berries that day. Yes, his people often did go around talking to trees, but he talked to his ceiling sometimes (generally about something stupid one of his subjects had done) and that did not make it sentient. Besides, Silvan elves were strange creatures. And trees did not have muscles to move themselves with, anyway. "Yes, I like it here as well. Do you have more trust in my decisions now?"

"I still think you were mad to set off across the world looking for a new home," the prince said with a smirk.

"Perhaps," Oropher conceded. "But we could not stay there long, anyway."

Both Sindar's shoulders slumped as they thought of the empty place on the map where their home had once been. "You could not stay there any time at all," Thranduil said softly. "You were already planning to leave, were you not?"

Oropher closed his eyes and nodded.

Thranduil leaned back in his chair to gaze up at the ceiling. Would he be able to stay in that house, he wondered, if the worst happened? If he lost Eithryn?

He would likely fade, he knew. It was hard to imagine that he would find the strength to live without her. How his father had done it, he did not know... but Oropher had always been so much stronger than he was. He had not even seemed to come very close.

. . . . . .

_"FATHER!" Thranduil shouted over the pounding of feet and the clanging of armor as elves rushed this way and that in a rush to prepare for the next horde of attackers. "FATHER!" the young Sindar called again, wrapping one arm around himself in an effort to stop the flow of blood from a shallow wound in his side. "WHERE ARE YOU?"_

_ Someone caught him, and he found himself staring frantically into Taensirion's gray eyes. "The south wall was breached. I saw Oropher running that way."_

_ The south wall? But that meant... Thranduil broke into a run without pausing to thank Taensirion, not that his father's friend waited for it. Down a flight of stairs he went, and up another, and around a cart that held elves he recognized even in the split second he had to see their still forms, but he could not stop to pay his respects. A knot was growing in his throat, and he knew somehow that there was no time to lose. He pushed himself faster and faster until he thought his lungs would burst._

_ It was not a large city, but by the time he reached his parents' home, he was too short of breath to call out for them. He could hardly make himself look when he threw open the door, but everything was in perfect order, with no sign of blood or a struggle. The other rooms were the same way... but his mother was not there._

_ It was only when he stumbled back outside that he noticed that the door of the next house over was open and swinging back and forth in the hot breeze._

_. . . . . ._

_ Blood was dripping from Oropher's jaw, but he was not aware of it._

_ His left hand was nearly touching the corpse of a child, but he was not aware of it._

_ All he could see was his beloved wife's face as he stroked his thumb across her cold cheek. "I am sorry," he whispered hoarsely. "I should have sent you away, far away where you would have been safe." A tear ran down his face to fall in her hair. "But few places are safe anymore, and I was afraid I would never see you again." His voice broke. "I am sorry." He bent to kiss her forehead and took her limp hand in his, unconsciously rubbing to warm it up. "And you had to come find Laerdim's daughter, of course. Selfless to the end."_

_ He heard a quiet noise behind him, and wondered if he even wanted to turn and fight. After all, what was the point of protecting an empty shell? But then his fatherly instincts took over as he realized, somehow, who it was that stood there._

_ He squeezed his wife's hand one last time, then stood in one abrupt motion and turned to his son, who was staring at his mother's body in a state of pure shock. "Come, Thranduil."_

_ "Mother..." The younger elf murmured, seeming not to hear him._

_ "Come," Oropher repeated firmly, putting his arm around his son and guiding him out the door. "You need a healer, my child..."_

. . . . . .

Greenwood's king drew in a deep breath and opened his eyes. His son was still there, looking upwards as if he could see the stars through the roof. Oropher wondered what long-lost day he was seeing... or if perhaps he had fallen asleep. It was hard to tell at times.

As peaceful as the younger elf looked, Oropher knew well that it was not good to dwell on the past for too long. "Thranduil," he called softly.

. . . . . .

Several hours later, Oropher paused in his recounting of some of his more... interesting moments as king (this particular story was about a Silvan elf who had been arrested for trying to murder her enemies' houseplants) to roll his eyes as his daughter-in-law entered, as usual, through the window. He was not sure whether to sigh or smile as his son instantly forgot about his presence and rose to greet her, but he did have to admit (in one of his rare moments of honesty) that they _did_ look good together.

"You enjoyed yourself, I hope?" Thranduil was asking.

Eithryn grinned evilly. "I did. We didn't break anything," she added quickly, with a mock-bow at Oropher. "As promised. We just tormented Felrion and Kilvara."

"Ah, yes, how are they doing?" the king asked, with a look at Thranduil that said, "I am being good, are you paying attention?"

"Well, Felrion's still having trouble with sentences," the Silvan elf explained, waving to Galion as he came to the doorway to listen, "and Kilvara can't concentrate when they make eye contact... but they're making progress. Slowly."

"About time," Thranduil noted.

Eithryn snorted. "No kidding. And right before we left, Felrion kissed her on the cheek. I think she almost slapped him, she was so surprised, but it still might have been the sweetest thing I've ever seen."

"That hurts," Thranduil muttered, making Oropher laugh.

"Well, he almost passed out trying to work up the courage to do it... Fine, it's the sweetest thing I've ever seen _except_ all the things you've done that are _clearly_ much sweeter than that."

"Much better," the prince said, giving her a quick peck on the lips. "Father, I suppose you must be going soon?"

Oropher took the hint and nodded. "Good night, Thranduil... Yes, and you as well," he told Eithryn, who poked her husband in the ribs when he tried to narrow his eyes at his father. "Thank you, Galion... I do not suppose you would change your mind about my offer?"

"Sky said she would let her falcons live inside if I told you about any of her plans," Galion said politely.

"I see." Oropher had to admit he was impressed at the loyalty of his daughter-in-law's friends. After all, it was very mysterious that she had known to threaten the butler... "Well, I shall be on my way, then." He nodded to the three of them and left, but he paused as he reached the stairs to listen to the laughter coming from inside, every bit of it filled with joy and contentment, and he remembered who it was who made his son laugh like that. Perhaps, he thought, it was a good thing the pesky little creature was so good at getting out of trouble.

**_Fun fact: I used to share Sky's feelings about Oropher, but then the first time I wrote from his perspective I realized, hey, he has a reason to be annoyed. I wonder what would happen if I wrote from Professor Umbridge's perspective... Ugh, nope, not trying that. No way._**


	22. Never Again--Part 1

_**Disclaimer: These chapter are not meant to encourage participation in certain activities mentioned herein, especially because the target audience is mainly made up of non-elves who would quite possibly experience long-term side effects that do not manifest in our pointy-eared friends. However, the author felt that the positive effects that could be gained from reading this humorous collection of chapters would outweigh the small risk of them inspiring her highly intelligent audience to do something unfitting said intelligence.**_

**_Translation: This is stupid, despite being funny. Don't do it._**

Oropher never knew what to expect from his daughter-in-law; he could never tell when he spoke to her if she was going to smile at him, make fun of him, or just plain ignore him. She had never punched him before, however.

He had never realized just how fast the little monster was. He had seen her stagger out of the feast hall and gone to investigate, wondering if she was ill—while food poisoning was rare in elves, it was not unheard of—and had unwisely continued to approach even when she backed away with a wild look in her eyes. Now he was left reeling from the unexpected blow, at the mercy of a possibly insane she-elf. He held up his hands to defend himself from the expected attack, but it did not come.

. . . . . .

Inside, Thranduil returned from a short chat with Taensirion and looked around, wondering where his wife had gone.

. . . . . .

Oropher dared to open his eyes when he heard a quiet thump, and he quickly realized that he was no longer in danger. Eithryn was lying facedown a few feet away, but she quickly got back to her feet—quickly, but not gracefully, and Oropher smirked as he finally realized what was going on. He offered to help her to a nearby stump, but she slapped his hand away and promptly fell back onto the moss. "I see my son finally convinced you to try wine."

She muttered something that was probably an insult into the ground.

Oropher shook his head. "And I see that you liked it." He made his way to the door, pausing before he opened it to note that the Silvan elf showed no signs of moving and had most likely passed out.

. . . . . .

Thranduil had just reached the door when it opened, and he judged from the way his father's shoulders were shaking that his wife was indeed outside, and that he was going to regret his attempt to get her drunk, which he had thought had failed until she mysteriously disappeared.

Sure enough, there she was, lying with her face in the dirt. He wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry as he rolled her over, but the choice became clear to him when she moved enough to kick him and muttered, "Goway."

"You only had three glasses!" he half sighed, half chuckled as she curled up in a ball. "Oh, Eithryn." He picked her up, pausing to send an amused glare at his father, who thought all of this was quite funny, and started off through the trees. First that horrid coffee substance, and now this... Perhaps he should not let his wife drink anything from now on, just to be safe.

. . . . . .

Thranduil poked the lump in the covers as he passed on his way to the closet. "Planning to get up anytime soon?"

Eithryn groaned, though the sound was muffled by the pillow over her head. "I hate you."


	23. Never Again--Part 2

"Eithryn, you will feel much better if you eat something."

Sky wrinkled her nose at the toast in front of her. "I don't think I will."

"And which of us is the expert in hangovers?"

"If yours were like this, you wouldn't have had more than one." She shoved her plate across the table and stomped off, pausing before she disappeared to lean on the doorframe for a moment so she wouldn't fall over.

. . . . . .

"Hello, Taensirion," Thranduil said as he came across the other Sindar half an hour later.

"Ah, Thranduil, I was looking for you. Do you know why your father has a black eye this morning?"

The prince's eyes went wide, and he gulped, smiled nervously, and set off for his father's office to make sure Oropher still had his sense of humor from the previous night.

Taensirion was left alone with his many new theories.

. . . . . .

When he returned home that night, Thranduil was concerned to find the bedroom door closed, and Galion confirmed that he had not seen Eithryn much that day, and was certain she had not eaten anything. The prince was careful to be quiet as he pushed the door open and made his way to the bed. "Eithryn?" he murmured.

The lump under the covers groaned. "I hope you die. Painfully."

"Perhaps you should be quieter next time I have a hangover," Thranduil suggested dryly.

"No, I'm really going to enjoy making as much noise as I can."

Thranduil noted that never before had pain totally removed her ability to empathize. "I did try to help..."

"Go away before I hurt you."

Thranduil probably should have done so, but he continued, "You would have felt much better if you had—"

. . . . . .

All things considered, Oropher was not surprised to find his son at his door that evening. "May I stay here tonight?" Thranduil asked. "My wife is... rather unhappy with me."

Oropher smirked and held the door open. "Your nose is bleeding."

"And your eye is purple and black."

_**This, I am sure, was neither the first nor the last time Thranduil got kicked out of the house.**_


	24. Never Again--Part 3

**_A few weeks after the last chapter..._**

_CLANG_.

Thranduil reached over to grab the other pillow and use it to cover his pounding head.

_CLANG_.

"Eithryn..." he growled weakly.

_CLANG_. The sound was getting closer.

Thranduil curled into a ball.

The door opened. _CLANG_.

"I SAID I was sorry," he snarled, although his current position made his threatening tone less convincing.

_CLANG_.

"Eithryn," he begged. "Please. Let me sleep." Of all the times for his wife to hold a grudge...

There was a pause, and then:

_CLANG_.

"EITHRYN! I will do anything!"

_CLANG_. "Just don't try to give me wine again."

"I will not, I promise!"

Pause. "But you already did..."

"Three glasses of wine should not have—"

_CLANG_. Right. Next. To. His. HEAD.

Sky gulped and put down her frying pans with an apologetic grin as her husband sat up and flashed her a cruel smile.

. . . . . .

"...so where are we going?" Sky asked meekly as Thranduil carried her through the forest, still with an expression that suggested he would very much enjoy torturing her to death.

"Somewhere you cannot bother me," he answered sweetly.

She decided it was time to get out of this situation. "I'm really very sorry," she said in her best I'm-small-and-weak-and-helpless voice.

"Good. That means you will not do it again." His grin widened. "But, to quote you, you already did..."

She laughed nervously. "You're not going to throw me in a cave, are you?"

"No."

"...are you going to tie me up somewhere?"

"That would be ineffective."

"Are you... going to hit me on the head and throw me in a pit?" Sky, who was running out of ideas and really didn't like the look on her husband's face, asked quietly as Thranduil reached the river and turned to walk upstream, wincing as the sunlight bounced off the water to sting his eyes.

He frowned down at her. "I do not believe I have ever been THAT angry at you."

She thought for a moment. "If I start yelling, will you put me down?"

"If you start yelling, I WILL knock you out and leave you in a pit," Thranduil, whose headache was not being helped by walking, promised.

Eithryn shifted to look around for any sign of help. "You're starting to scare me here..."

Thranduil sighed. "I will not hurt you, Eithryn, even though you hurt me. You know that."

"I didn't mean to hurt you," she said in a small voice.

"I know, but you did." He looked down into her eyes. "But at least it was my head, and not my heart, and so I forgive you." The smile came back. "But I am still going to throw you in the river."

Sky froze. "What? Wait, no—"

_SPLASH_.


	25. Strange and Dangerous Creatures

**_Hey, everyone! So it occurred to me that you guys don't know a certain character as well as I thought, so I decided to fix that._**

"So I can only move the horse this far, but I can move the queen all the way to the end of the board in one move..." Storm put his chin in his hand and looked up at his sister. "Are you going to run that fast when you're queen?"

"I very much hope you will never have to find out," Thranduil said, lifting his ink bottle out of his wife's reach as she tried to grab it for use against her brother, causing Galion to let out a strangled gasp as the black liquid sloshed dangerously.

It was a fairly typical afternoon so far for the prince and his wife (who was _not_ a princess)—Thranduil had work to do, so he was scanning through letters on the couch; Eithryn was beside him, leaning over to teach her brother to play chess on the table—which was pushed over so she could reach it—while Galion served as an extra player, a target for thrown chess pieces, and the snack-bringer. It was not the most peaceful work environment, but Thranduil never lacked entertainment, and he still usually finished in time to spend the evening in whatever bizarre activity his wife had thought up. Actually, he was more or less done already, but admitting such would mean giving up his role of spectator.

Coryn sighed dramatically and drummed his fingers on the edge of the board. "The orc king is trying to attack my castle thingy, so I'll order Sky to come over here and defend it." He moved the queen to threaten Eithryn's piece.

His sister grinned and moved it back. "I don't follow orders."

Thranduil snorted. "Very true."

"Fine, I'll move _you_ instead, since you don't have any problem with—Sky, wait, I was joking! ...You just killed your husband, sis."

Thranduil tried to look hurt. "Eithryn, I thought you loved me!"

"It had to be done," she said, giving him an almost-sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "I was doing so well," Coryn mourned as he reset the pieces. Galion started to help him, but then jumped up as they heard a knock on the door.

Thranduil sighed. "So, my love, what will you do now that I am gone?"

"Invite Kilvara to move in, because otherwise I'll be lonely," she said with a shrug. "Besides that, I figure things will be about the same."

He frowned. "Ouch..."

"And I'll take out the closets."

His expression told her he was not amused.

She rolled her eyes. "Thranduil, you know perfectly well that I'm joking."

"Are you sure? I can easily imagine you doing that."

Her mouth fell open, and she slapped him across the face. "How _dare_ you, Thranduil Oropherion! Don't you _ever_ say something like that again."

Everyone stared at her, especially Thranduil, who could not remember the last time someone had even _tried_ to slap him. Storm stood up and circled around behind the prince in case he did something foolish.

And then Thranduil burst into hysterical laughter. "You—sound—like—my—mother!" he gasped as soon as he could breathe well enough.

Sky groaned.

"I can confirm that," Taensirion, who was standing in the open doorway and keeping a straight face through sheer willpower, agreed.

"Hey, Taen," Storm said, snickering. Thranduil forced back his laughter and waved for him to come in.

The Sindar shook his head. "Oh, no, I am in no hurry. Let me know when you are finished with your discussion." With a mischievous grin, he tipped his head toward Eithryn, who was waiting with her arms crossed for her husband to make eye contact, and slipped outside before Thranduil could protest.

"Me, too," Storm agreed, and he followed. Galion went last and closed the door.

Thranduil grimaced and turned back to his wife. "How angry are you?"

"Very." She glared down at the floor. "You really think I wouldn't _care_? Thranduil, I... I can't even imagine what I'd do."

"I know." He held out his arms, and she reluctantly accepted the hug. "I did not really mean it, Eithryn."

"Then why'd you _say_ it?" she growled into his shoulder.

"Perhaps I was hoping you would take a moment to prove that you _would _miss me."

She pulled away and gave him a look. "_Seriously_?"

"It seemed like a better idea at the time." He waited until she started to get up. "So...?"

"No, Thranduil, I'm not going to kiss you after you tried to guilt me into it by insulting me."

He nodded as though he understood, but as she turned to leave, he caught her and managed to steal a kiss, after which she rolled her eyes again and stalked out to join their friends.

Coryn looked immensely disappointed to see them both in one piece. "What, not even going to yell at each other?"

His sister shook her head at him. "Didn't need to. You heard every word anyway."

He grinned, admitting his guilt.

"What do you need?" Thranduil asked Taensirion.

"It is less a need than an invitation. You see, my children have been pestering me to let them meet the prince and princess—"

Eithryn let out a small shriek. "YOU HAVE CHILDREN?! How old?!"

Taensirion chuckled, embarrassed. "Two are fully grown, and two are about this tall." He held his hand up to the middle of his waist.

Eithryn looked ready to spontaneously combust. "_Twins!_"

Taensirion shrugged. "I suppose."

Coryn gave him a funny look at that, but his sister wasn't paying attention. "Why did no one ever tell me he had a family?" she demanded of Thranduil.

"I assumed you knew," the surprised prince said.

"Can I meet them?" she begged Taensirion. "_Please_?"

Taensirion patted the air to calm her. "That _is_ what I was suggesting," he chuckled.

. . . . . .

"Perhaps it is none of my business, but it seems you have been forgiven?" Taensirion asked as he and Thranduil walked through the forest—the copper-haired siblings were laughing and teasing each other as they leapt through the trees above.

"She will likely remember later, but I do not imagine she will still be angry. I suppose I have you to thank for that." The prince smirked. "Which reminds me, did I ever thank you for disobeying the king?"

"Many times, my lord," Taensirion chuckled, knowing what he was referring to. "But as I said before, it was nothing. Although," he added after a moment, "I suppose I _was _punished for my disloyalty, in a way; I have rarely seen your father in such a foul mood as he displayed over the following days." He winked.

Thranduil was not apologetic. "He is adjusting."

"After several centuries."

Both elves laughed. "He is not a flexible one, your father," Taensirion noted.

"I believe I inherited that trait."

The advisor, who had known Thranduil all his life, could hardly disagree.

. . . . . .

"So, princess," Storm asked, ducking the expected flying acorn from his choice of words, "Speaking of children, when do I get nieces and nephews?"

To Storm's disappointment, she didn't even roll her eyes. "Whenever I manage to convince Thranduil that they're something he's capable of understanding. I don't think he's ever talked to children, honestly."

"I guess Kilvara's sisters would've been grown up by the time he started voluntarily spending time with us," Storm said thoughtfully. "Hey, if he needs any advice—"

"Yeah, I don't think so," Sky interrupted. "Cake still isn't a good breakfast food, Storm. _Especially_ for me."

"I was young!" he protested, stopping to wait for the Sindar to catch up below them. "And I was going to say he could talk to _Taensirion_! Not me!"

"Good."

"And you're one to talk about good breakfast foods... but yeah, my life would've probably been easier if I hadn't given you so much sugar."

"Not to mention you let me get in the habit of only eating once or twice a day. It drives Thranduil crazy."

Storm shrugged and grinned. "You would've learned that one from Mom, anyway."

"Good point." Sky rolled her eyes. "Anyway, you were an amazing big brother... but a good father, not so much."

"I repeat, I was young," Storm sighed.

"Hopefully you'll do a better job next time," his sister said mischievously.

He shook his head. "We've been over this, Sky. I can't get married. The consequences would be too great."

She just smiled. "Taensirion has two adult children, doesn't he? They could be daughters."

"At least one of them is. I've met her. Sindar through and through."

"And we know our family has a thing for Sindar, don't we?" she pointed out shamelessly.

Storm elbowed her in the side hard enough to make her lose her balance; she tumbled off the branch and landed lightly on the ground next to the two Sindar, who glanced over curiously and then went back to talking. "Not a chance, sis!"

She stuck out her tongue at him and joined her husband, and as she did so, Taensirion cleared his throat to gain her attention. "They are both married, anyway," he told her with a chuckle.

"Rats."

"And their sister is too young to be thinking about such things," he added. "As you will see in three... two... one..."

They heard Storm cry out from the trees. "Ambush!"

Thranduil instinctively fell into a roll as an arrow flashed past him, and when he came up again, Taensirion was slumping to the ground, clutching his chest and moaning in agony. The prince ran to his side, cursing his foolishness; none of them had weapons of any sort. "Hold on, my friend, we will get you out of this somehow."

Taensirion quieted and opened one eye to regard him, and then, to the prince's utter bewilderment, the advisor began to laugh. "Oh, Thranduil, your face..."

The prince blinked, and then threw himself flat on the ground as Eithryn shouted, "Duck!" Another arrow flew over his head and bounced harmlessly off the tree behind him. The she-elf then picked up a large stick and let out a roar as she charged in the direction the arrow had come from.

Taensirion patted Thranduil's shoulder as he sat up, shoulders still shaking with silent laughter. "I assure you, my prince, I am quite all right."

"No, you're not!" a boy's voice loudly disagreed from the branches.

"Oh, right. My apologies." Taensirion sprawled out on his back and, with a smirk at Thranduil, closed his eyes and let his tongue flop out of the corner of his open mouth.

The prince turned in time to see his wife suffer a similar fate, and then he himself was struck in the shoulder by one of the toy arrows, leaving a stinging welt. He spun to glare up at the trees. "That _hurt_!"

"Then you should've been paying more attention," Eithryn called unsympathetically.

"Oh, come now, Thranduil, I remember you similarly attacking your father on many occasions," Taensirion added, still lying flat on the ground in a most undignified manner.

The prince could hardly stay angry while seeing his father's friend in that position, especially since he knew the truth of that comment; in fact, now that he thought about it, he remembered Taensirion dying quite skillfully many times back then, as well. "I suppose I may have given _both_ of you a few bruises," he admitted.

"You _were_ a child once! I knew it!" Eithryn grinned unapologetically as her husband narrowed his eyes at her, and her brother laughed as he dropped out of the trees to join them, wincing as he rubbed his side.

"I would offer to share some of my memories," Taensirion told her as he rose and brushed the leaves off his Silvan-style clothes, "but I am sure my prince has a multitude of unpleasant ways to get back at me. Anyway, allow me to officially introduce you to my younger children." He looked up at the trees and waved for their unseen attackers to come down. "This is my daughter Silana," he said as a young girl scrambled down from a tall pine. The child flashed an impish grin at the three and went to stand proudly next to her father; her hair was dark brown-black while his was medium-blond, but she had his clear gray eyes. "And this... Come on, little one..." The other elfling was apparently reluctant to come down, and the three could not see him from where they were, though Taensirion apparently could. "No need to be shy... There, good lad. This," he told them as the young one dropped out of the tree and sidestepped until he was half-hidden behind his father, "is my son Feren."

Sky frowned; something was not right here. She pointed at Taensirion. "Sindar." He nodded, smiling.

Sky pointed at Silana. "Sindar." Her dark hair meant nothing; many Sindar were dark-haired. Taensirion nodded again.

"_Oh_," Storm murmured, finally understanding Taensirion's comment about _twins_.

Sky turned to Feren. "...Silvan."

"Half-Sindar," he corrected.

She tilted her head and looked more closely at him. He had brown hair, dark brown eyes, and very clearly Silvan features. "By adoption?"

All three nodded proudly.

"That's... really cool," Sky told Taensirion, a smile growing on her face. "One would think someone would've told me about this," she added, with a meaningful look at her husband.

"I thought you knew everything that happened in this forest," he said.

"So did I," she grumbled. "You must be Aleinia's son," she said to Feren, "but I thought she lived halfway across the forest."

Taensirion nodded. "She wanted to move back to where she grew up, but they were having a hard time on their own." He smiled sadly down at Feren and put his arm around the Silvan boy. "So we invited them to move in, and now..."

"We have two moms," Silana finished. "So I'm one-third Sindar," she informed them in a "you'd-better-not-get-this-wrong" tone of voice.

"And they're both bossy," Feren added, all of his shyness apparently gone.

Taensirion gave the boy a swift thump on the top of his head—not enough to hurt him, of course, but enough to get his attention. "You do not speak of _either _of your mothers that way."

Feren ducked his head. "Yes, father. I'm sorry." It wasn't the first time he'd gotten in trouble for that sort of thing.

"I know," Taensirion said gently, and he ruffled the boy's hair. "Now, I believe both of you are forgetting something?"

Both of them looked up at him in confusion, and then Silana caught on and dropped down to kneel in front of Thranduil. "Sorry, my lord, we forgot."

"It is quite all right," Thranduil said as Sky moved over a few feet so she didn't have to yell at them for kneeling to her. "Rise."

The children did so, and Feren looked from Sky to his father questioningly, but Taensirion shook his head, knowing that the princess might kill him if he made his children act that way toward her. "I thought it was a good habit for them to get into," he told Thranduil. "They are to do the same every time your father visits."

The prince nodded, but Eithryn went up to the children and said, "If either of you ever do that to me, I'll tie you to a tree for a week. Got that?"

Feren and Silana eyed each other as if to say that this elf was crazy, but they nodded obediently.

. . . . . .

"Let me get this straight." Sky paused to swallow a spoonful of soup so that her husband couldn't complain that she hadn't eaten enough. "Taensirion and Lanthirel, you're both full Sindar who were born in Doriath."

They nodded.

"Faena, Milaera, and Silana are all full Sindar by birth, but by adoption they're each a third Silvan because they consider Aleinia their mother as well."

"Correct," Taensirion said.

"So what's Aleinia's relationship to you two?"

Lanthirel regarded the sad-eyed Silvan elf next to her fondly. "I call her my sister."

Aleinia returned her smile, but it only half reached her dark eyes. A perpetual cloud of sorrow seemed to surround the she-elf, which wasn't surprising if she'd only lost her husband a few years before. Still, she stuck close to Lanthirel, and it was obvious that whatever bond they had, it ran deep despite its newness.

"You know what I think?" Storm asked, pointing his spoon at the two of them. "If you two are sisters, you've got to have the same ancestry, right? The easiest way to do that is to make each of you half-Sindar and half-Silvan."

Lanthirel laughed softly. "I like that."

"But now I am the only full Sindar," Taensirion objected, to his children's amusement.

"You might get points for adopting one," Storm said thoughtfully. "And for dressing like us, unlike _someone_." He sent a pointed look at Thranduil. "Sky?"

"Maybe if he braids his hair," she decided. "Just like Feren's. Then he could be an honorary Silvan."

Everyone turned to Taensirion, who chuckled and fingered his loose hair. "I suppose I could try it."

Feren was bouncing up and down in his seat. "I can teach you, father!"

"It will look wonderful, father," Faena, whose own blond hair was in a simple braid, teased.

Milaera grinned. "Oh, yes. Maybe we should all experiment on him, you know, see what looks best."

"Yes!" Silana cackled. "He will _suffer_!"

Thranduil jumped and eyed the harmless-looking child nervously. That could not possibly be normal.

"Very well," Taensirion said, standing to carry his empty dishes to the sink. "Shall the torture begin now?"

"Let us take the prisoner to the dungeons, Feren," the youngest girl hissed as she grinned evilly.

"Clear the table first," Aleinia reminded them.

All four children did so in what was surely record time, and then Feren pulled Taensirion out of the room, followed by the three girls. "Come on!"

Thranduil listened as Silana's maniacal laughter faded away, then gulped and slowly turned to Eithryn. "You want some of those creatures?"

Sky grinned and nodded.

"Don't worry, prince," Storm said innocently. "I'm sure your children won't be like that."

Thranduil looked at him, then at Eithryn, then back at Storm. "And what _will_ they be like?"

Storm grinned.

. . . . . .

_Storm cautiously opened the door, peeking around it to make sure no one had set any traps since he'd left. There were none, as far as he could tell, so he went through and quietly closed the door behind him, then made for his room. Once safely inside, he checked under his bed, behind the curtains, and between the mattress and the wall (which he knew from experience to be a valid hiding spot), and then sat down on the bed and took two objects out from their hiding place inside his cloak. Then he waited._

_Soon he heard the door open, and he put the objects down and went out into the living room, where he was immediately assaulted by a very small elf who was not nearly as tired as she was supposed to be._

_"Storm, guess what we did today!" Sky cried, bouncing up and down, her huge green eyes wide._

_Storm looked questioningly at the other elf who had come in, a red-haired youngster more than twice Sky's age, but still not quite full-grown. Kilvara just gave him a helpless shrug and collapsed into a chair, panting. "Did you run a lot?" Storm guessed._

_"Yup! We ran and ran and ran—" Sky jumped up onto the couch as she said this, "—and then I think Kilvara got tired, so she told me all the squirrels were evil, and I had to catch as many as I could."_

_"She got seven," Kilvara told Storm._

_"And then we played tag for a while, and then Kilvara made some of the grown-up elves play tag with me, 'cause she knew otherwise I would go find you—I know you told her to keep me busy, Storm—and then we ran ALL the way home."_

_"Wow," Storm said, lifting her off the couch. "You had a busy day."_

_"What are you trying to hide from me, Storm?" Sky was done with the distractions._

_"I'm not trying to hide anything anymore," Storm answered, carrying her to his room. "Kilvara, do you want to come see?"_

_"I'd better get to, with the work I put into this," she said._

_Storm paused at the door. "Close your eyes."_

_Sky did—mostly. Storm grinned and covered them with his hand, then went in and put her down on the bed. "Okay, you can look now."_

_Sky opened her eyes—and then they went even wider as she saw what was in front of her._

_A small bow and a quiver of arrows. _Real_ arrows._

_She looked up at Storm. "Does this mean I can kill orcs now?"_

. . . . . .

"Seven squirrels," Aleinia repeated, looking impressed.

"In about half an hour," Storm explained. "That's one squirrel every four minutes or so."

"So basically," Sky told her husband, "what you have to look forward to is what happened when your father gave me coffee."

Thranduil looked like he was seriously reconsidering his decision to marry her.

"Of course, they'll have some of you in them, too, so I'm sure they won't be _that_ bad," Storm assured him. "Probably."

"Ahem."

They all turned.

"If I may have your attention," Milaera announced, and they noticed that her previously free black hair was now braided intricately. "We require your opinion—especially yours, mother," she added, nodding to Lanthirel. "Are you prepared?"

Everyone nodded eagerly, except for Thranduil, who cringed, wondering what they had done to poor Taensirion.

"Bring in the prisoner, Feren," Milaera ordered in a tone worthy of a queen.

There was a moment of silent anticipation as the elves nudged their reluctant father in, and then...

"That... actually suits you," Thranduil remarked in amazement.

"Does it not?" Faena asked.

Murmured agreements came from around the table, not least from Lanthirel, who suggested that maybe he should keep it that way.

Taensirion blushed slightly at that. "I suppose it is not so bad," he decided. His hair was now braided back in the style normal for Silvan males, which was really just enough to keep it out of the way. The main discomfort it seemed to be causing him was that he could no longer let it fall down in front of his face to hide him when he was embarrassed. "Certainly it is better than some of the other ways they tried..."

His children giggled.

"All right, I believe you have tormented your father enough for one day," Lanthirel declared. "Shall we all go outside?"

"A fine idea, my wife," Taensirion agreed. "I am sure our guests want to be tormented as well."

Silana snickered.

. . . . . .

A few minutes later, Thranduil and Taensirion were leaning over the balcony outside, watching Milaera interrogate Storm and Sky as the twins poked them with toy swords, while Lanthirel, Aleinia, and Faena talked in the branches below. "If it means anything, I am sure you will be a fine father," Taensirion told the prince.

"Do you think so?" Thranduil asked doubtfully.

"I do. Do you know why?"

Thranduil raised an eyebrow at the other Sindar, whose hair was still braided. "Do tell."

"Because not a week passed from when your father realized he was going to have a son until you were born when I did not have to tell him the same thing at least once."

Thranduil straightened in surprise. He could not remember his father ever being unsure of what to do with him. In fact, many of his first memories were of his father playing with him or showing him the city or proudly introducing him to whoever happened to come close enough. He suspected he had spent more of his early life carried on Oropher's shoulders than walking on his own feet.

Taensirion seemed to read his mind. "He _did_ spoil you somewhat, I must admit, but not a tenth as much as his parents spoiled him. He learned from their mistakes, fortunately." He smirked at Thranduil's sudden interest. "Ah, my prince, the stories I could tell you. Unfortunately, just as you would, I am sure, get back at me for telling your wife about _your _youth, I fear it would be hazardous to my health to tell you about his." That, and he certainly would not want his children to know about his own involvement in those stories just yet.

Thranduil turned back to the scene below them as he absorbed that. He supposed he ought not to be surprised that his father had gotten up to _something_ interesting in his youth. Perhaps he would ask about that the next time his father was furious about something his wife had done.

His thoughts shifted to the elf standing next to him. Taensirion had been a close friend of Oropher's since long before Thranduil's birth, but the prince had never payed much attention to him after he was too old to need another playmate, but ever since his father had made the mistake of giving the advisor a certain assignment, they had been talking more often, and he was discovering that he quite liked the other Sindar. Of course, no one could dislike him after watching him with his children...

...Who had vanished.

Taensirion, who had been watching Thranduil and musing that it had been a long while since he had really talked with his friend's son, was confused by the prince's sudden frown, and became even more so when Thranduil spun around, looking like he expected to find danger there.

"ATTACK!"

Thranduil dodged the arrows that came his way through a combination of agility and experience, while Taensirion took two straight in the chest as he tried to turn around. The latter quickly recovered, though, and both elves quickly reached the same conclusion as to their odds and scrambled for the house, holding their hands up to shield themselves.

. . . . . .

"Perhaps," Thranduil observed as he moved a box to make space for himself, "these children of yours are not so different from my wife after all."

Taensirion dusted off a pile of old sheets and sneezed. "Do you often have to barricade yourself in dark closets to escape from Eithryn?"

"Oh, yes. In fact, it is the only real way to get away from her. She dislikes small spaces, you know."

"That is convenient at the moment." Taensirion sneezed again. "I really ought to clean this out sometime."

"Perhaps you need a butler."

"No, I merely need to stop coming up with excuses. How long do you expect we shall be in here?"

"Probably longer if they hear us."

"True."

The two elves sighed and settled back to wait until it seemed safe to emerge.

**_I'm sure there are those of you who don't like a certain revelation in this story. That's just fine, but know that if you try to tell me so I will ignore you since it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside._**

**_Also, if you go to my profile page you will see a story called "A Little Help". Read it. You can think of it as a bonus chapter for this one :P_**

**_P.S. Yes, Taensirion sticks with the new hairstyle._**


	26. Complications

**_Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinally..._**

It was a bright summer morning in Greenwood; there was not a cloud in the sky, and the sunlight that shone through the trees dappled the ground with green and gold. No sane elf would have predicted anything other than the clear skies that had thus far appeared all week. Granted, Thranduil thought, his brother-in-law hardly counted as a sane elf.

"There's going to be a thunderstorm later, I can feel it," Coryn insisted as he followed his sister and the prince along a wide branch that was fully bathed in sunlight.

Sky looked up at her namesake. "You're telling me it feels like a storm's coming? Thranduil, let go." She tried to pull her hand free of her husband's so that she could turn and face her brother.

Thranduil did not allow that. "Hmm... no, I think not."

She glared at him and offered him the other hand. "Switch?"

He thought about it, then let go of her hand as though to take the other, only to put his arm around her waist instead so that she could not turn at all. She sighed, having expected this behavior.

"Don't worry about it, sis," Storm said, and Thranduil and Sky both ducked instinctively as he vaulted over their heads and landed lightly in front of them. "As I was saying, yes, it feels like a storm's coming, are you kidding?"

The other two exchanged looks. "I have always said he needed his head checked," Thranduil noted.

"You used to say the same thing about me."

He shrugged. "Was I wrong?"

Sky considered smacking him and decided it wasn't worth it. "Maybe it's his name."

Thranduil raised an eyebrow.

"Stormfire," she reminded him.

"I know that," the offended prince said. "I merely do not see how his name could affect his skill at predicting the weather. What _is_ 'stormfire', anyway?"

"Lightning," Storm said. "It's 'skyfire' we're not sure about."

Thranduil looked down at his wife curiously.

"The sun?" she guessed. "Meteors? The stars? Who knows?"

"Which do you prefer?"

"Meteors," she said immediately.

He chuckled. "Of course."

"And that's probably what it is," Storm added. "Mom wasn't one to name her children after anything peaceful."

Thranduil pointed at his wife. "Is that where...?"

"Oh, definitely." Storm's smile was just the slightest bit sad. "Same eyes, too. But yeah, she was a little crazy, our mother."

"Shocking," the prince observed, giving Eithryn an affectionate squeeze.

Storm grinned. "So it's not _really_ my fault Sky turned out like this, you know."

Thranduil nodded thoughtfully.

"At least they've found something to agree on," Sky muttered under her breath.

"Who are you talking to, love?" Thranduil asked in a mock-concerned voice.

"My invisible friend," she informed him sarcastically. "He's a talking squirrel. A purple one."

Thranduil smirked at Coryn. "She seems normal."

Storm nodded.

. . . . . .

A few minutes later, Storm stopped them as they approached the feast hall and quickly glanced in the window, then winked and led them around the back. As they neared the corner, he put his finger to his lips and leaned around it. The other two quickly did the same.

"Aww," Sky said softly, because there, sitting in the spreading branches of a young tree, were their two best friends, looking just about as happy as she'd ever seen them. Felrion's eyes were closed and his face was tilted up toward the sun, and Kilvara had her head on his shoulder and was gazing up at him lovingly.

Storm pulled back behind the corner. "What should we do?"

"Be nice and let them have their moment?" Sky asked dryly.

Storm looked at her like she'd lost her mind. "Oh, come on, this opportunity is almost as good as the time I found you two by that blackberry patch—"

"Storm. No."

"We do not need to relive that," Thranduil agreed.

"Fine," he said reluctantly. "But come on, Sky. Don't be a Sindar."

Thranduil was less offended by the insult than by the fact that his wife took it as one. "Hey!" she protested.

Storm grinned. "You married one, you act like one, you—Oof!" Sky knocked the wind out of him as she tackled him. Within moments the two were yelling insults at each other as they rolled about on the ground.

Thranduil sighed and stepped around them—Eithryn seemed to be winning for the moment, so he saw no reason to separate them. "Good morning," he greeted the two startled Silvan elves in the tree.

Felrion and Kilvara looked at each other and rolled their eyes, because such were the risks of being friends with Sky and Storm. "Out of curiosity, how long have you been there?" Felrion asked as they hopped down to the ground.

"Not long," Thranduil told him, sidestepping the siblings as they tumbled past him. "We were discussing whether to disturb you and there was a disagreement."

"I know how it feels now," Sky explained. "A little help, please?"

Thranduil unceremoniously lifted his brother-in-law off of her and dumped him in the dirt.

"Hey, Storm," Kilvara said before he and Sky could leap at each other again, "I'm supposed to tell you that the king wants to see you three hours before noon. Better get going."

Storm blinked and looked at Thranduil, who shrugged, not having heard anything from his father. "Me?"

"You," Kilvara confirmed.

Storm didn't bother to get off the ground as he thought for a minute. "I think I'm innocent this time." It was then that he noticed Kilvara's grin. "You know what this is about?"

She just smiled innocently. "I think the king would like to tell you himself."

"Right..." He got up and turned to leave, then snapped his fingers and turned back. "I've been meaning to ask—Have you two kissed yet?"

They both turned bright red. "None of your business," Kilvara said defensively.

"Ooooooh..." Storm was suddenly extremely interested.

"What was it like?" Sky wanted to know. All attempts at being nice went out the window when something like this came up.

"It wasn't like their kisses, was it?" Storm indicated his sister and her husband. "Because those are just—"

"Goodbye, Coryn." Thranduil gave him a not-so-gentle shove in the general direction of his father's new audience hall.

"But—"

"_Goodbye,_ Storm," Sky agreed.

"Bye," Felrion and Kilvara both said at once.

"All right, all right." Storm took off into the trees. "And remember, there'll be a thunderstorm tonight!"

The remaining four exchanged looks. "Concussion?" Felrion asked Sky.

"Probably."

. . . . . .

Storm entertained himself on the way to see the king by wondering what the audience hall would look like; it couldn't be _too_ bad if Sky hadn't mentioned it, but they'd come to expect a certain amount of showing off where Oropher was concerned. He was sort of disappointed when it turned out to be made almost entirely of wood; yes, it was elaborately carved, and they'd used a variety of different trees (fallen ones, of course), so it was colorful as well, but as far as buildings a king would be in for any length of time, it was remarkably humble. Even the throne was only a simple one, carved from wood.

"Ah, Coryn," the king said after dismissing a messenger he had been talking with.

"Oropher," Storm returned, pretending to forget he was supposed to bow, or kneel, or hop in circles, or whatever else he was expected to do in this setting.

Oropher did not miss it any more than he had the last thousand times, but he did not want to waste his time explaining to Coryn (again) why he had to bow to the king when his sister did not, or any of the other questions he would undoubtably come up with to convince the king that it simply was not worth arguing about. "I—Yes? What?" Coryn had opened his mouth at the same time as the king.

"Just wondering who designed the place," Storm said.

Oropher took a few moments to respond, searching as he was for any hidden sarcasm. "I did, with help from the Silvan architects, of course."

"Really? It's remarkably Silvan, as such things go."

Oropher eyed him, waiting for the punchline.

Storm chuckled, catching on. "I'm not insulting you," he promised. "Or threatening you, or trying to distract you—" Oropher did a scan of the room to check that statement. "—or even trying to trick you, believe it or not. I approve, for once."

"I did not ask for your approval," the Sindarin king reminded him.

Storm wanted to roll his eyes. "That doesn't have to make it meaningless." Knowing that this argument could go on forever if he'd somehow insulted the king's pride—honestly, wasn't it about time he got rid of that chip on his shoulder?—he waved away the thought even as he spoke it. "Never mind. What do you want from me today?"

"Ah, yes." Oropher, too, was ready to move on, mainly out of discomfort from being complimented by someone he seemed to disagree with in practically every way. "Coryn, there have been a total of eleven orc raids in the last five years that were on a large enough scale to cause lasting damage."

"I know." Storm had probably stopped at least five others just by himself.

"The servants of evil are far greater in number than there once were, and—"

"There's a war coming?" Storm asked dryly. "My sister's the princess, Oropher, and besides that, I'm not blind. I know what's going on in the world. Get to the point."

Oropher narrowed his eyes at him, and Storm held back a snicker as he realized they were each trying the other's patience, just in different ways. "The point I am getting to, Silvan, is that we are expanding our forces as quickly as we can, and it seemed a shame to me to leave out an experienced and, I am told, highly capable potential leader."

He had Storm's attention, as well as a decent amount of skepticism.

"Hear me out," Oropher insisted. "I am well aware that I have asked you to take command before, but that was many years ago, and both our positions have changed considerably. I ask you again now because I truly believe you could be of great use; your friend Kilvara informs me that you have been protecting the borders your entire life, and I am sure you have been of great use there, but you and your friends can only do so much alone."

"And you think I'd be more helpful if I were surrounded by a lot more elves?" Storm asked, but he was listening.

"No," the king corrected. "I think you would be more helpful _leading_ more elves." He paused to assess Coryn's reaction. "Kilvara says you have great leadership potential."

Storm shrugged.

"You disagree?"

"I wouldn't know," the Silvan elf admitted. "I've spent most of my life following my sister around."

"I have noticed," Oropher grumbled. "No matter. We will start you off gently. As a captain, perhaps, like your friend?"

Storm made a face. "That's 'gently'? Also, since when do you trust me with anything remotely important?"

"Let us call it an experiment. We will start you on patrols, and see if you are suited for more difficult work."

Wait... "Better not let your son hear you say patrols are easy."

Oropher raised an eyebrow. "Are they not?"

Storm thought about all the decisions and strategies and quick thinking that he had seen in any of the patrols he'd been on, and he could only make one conclusion. "You've never been on a patrol, have you?"

"On the contrary, I went on hundreds—perhaps thousands—in my youth," the king replied indignantly.

"In Doriath."

"Surely the basic principles are the same."

Storm's expression showed what he thought of that.

Oropher processed that look and its implications and raised an eyebrow before saying, "You will lead a single-day patrol tomorrow," and waving to dismiss him.

"Not going to give me a choice?"

Oropher frowned.

"You didn't ask if I accepted."

The king breathed in, held the breath for a moment, and breathed out slowly. "Do you accept?"

"Sure."

"Wonderful." Oropher jerked his head toward the exit.

"One more thing, if I may, oh great king. Don't Sky and Thranduil have a patrol tonight, in the same area as I'll be in tomorrow?"

Oropher tried to remember the patrol schedule he had approved at some point. "I believe that is correct."

Storm winked meaningfully, gave a mock bow, and trotted off, probably earning the distinction of being the first creature to ever run in the newly-built hall.

. . . . . .

The evening after Storm's talk with the king, Sky and Thranduil were getting ready for their patrol, which in this case meant sparring as their group slowly filtered into the little clearing where nearly all patrols in the area began and ended... or that was how they started out, anyway.

"Where _are_ you?" Thranduil wondered out loud as he checked in a clump of leaves, although he hardly expected a response. There was no Eithryn in there, so he hopped over to another slender branch where he had a better view of the ground below, because while it was most likely that he would find her in a tree, you never knew.

A soft click got his attention, and the Silvan she-elf who had made the sound nodded her head toward a particular tree and winked. Thranduil smiled in thanks and crept along that way, scanning the tree for any signs of his wife, but it was not until a copper-haired head peeked around the trunk about two-thirds of the way up that he spotted her. The prince sidestepped behind the trunk of his current tree and waited for a sign from the Silvan elves who were having fun watching their prince and princess play. When he got it—nods from the elves he was fairly sure were on his side—he leaned around the trunk to double-check that it was safe, then silently stepped over to the next branch and leapt to the next, and so on until he landed on the opposite side of Eithryn's tree, a few branches above where she crouched. Then he slowly circled around, one branch at a time...

Sky couldn't hear anything—Thranduil had, as she'd told him more than once, gotten stealthier—but she had her own informants.

He was counting on that.

On a tip from the elves loyal to her, Sky lunged around the trunk without warning... but the branches were empty, and just as she was processing that, someone grabbed her from behind. She shrieked and kicked out, unbalancing both of them, but luckily Thranduil knew his wife's typical reaction to being grabbed without warning and was positioned so that their fall was cushioned (well, sort of) by numerous branches, and their tree was (relatively) small to begin with. They landed in a laughing heap, not minding that they were a bit scratched up, and hardly noticing the surrounding elves' winces and chuckles. They did catch the sound of a throat clearing, though, and flushed with embarrassment when they discovered Thranduil's father trying to hide his amusement only a few steps away. "Is this how my soldiers act on patrols, then?"

"Who're you calling a soldier?" Eithryn protested, not unexpectedly.

"My son," Oropher replied. "I gather from your behavior that you are not expecting trouble today."

"On the contrary, it is likely we will encounter orcs, but—" Thranduil lost his train of thought as he took a closer look at his father. "You are wearing Silvan clothing." This had never happened before, and Thranduil found it worrying.

"Of course," Oropher said. "It would be unwise to go on a patrol in robes, after all." He smirked.

Thranduil waited for him to say he was joking, and when no such thing happened, he glanced over at his wife, who looked just as... ahem... _unsure_ as he did. "Father...?"

Oropher raised an eyebrow, ready to dismiss whatever excuse his son would come up with for leaving him behind. "Yes?"

Eithryn, for once, offered the king no insults. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she liked the idea of taking Oropher with them and seeing how much, if any, he had learned about the forest in his sheltered meeting halls and along his tame paths.

Thranduil held back his numerous objections, knowing they would be totally ignored anyway. "I suppose we should move out, then."

Oropher smiled and patted his son on the back.

. . . . . .

The orc scouts thought they were being quiet as they stalked through the undergrowth, but the elves could hear every _thump_ of their boots on the soft ground, and their trail, marked by bootprints and snapped branches, was visible even in the dark. The Silvan patrol, on the other hand, was utterly silent, communicating entirely through hand gestures as they surrounded the enemy, perfectly coordinated to an elf; most of these elves had been working together under the prince and princess for more than five hundred years, after all. Oropher understood now how this group had gotten their reputation.

Now if only he could understand what they were saying.

As they reached their ambush spot a good distance in front of the orcs, Sky waved to get her husband's attention, then pointed her herself and signed _Around_—she would lead her group to the other side of where the enemy would be.

He nodded and added, _Block path_. He did not explain that he meant the fastest path to the edge of the forest.

_Obviously_. She actually signed "yes", but he got the idea. Then she indicated his father. _Watch._

_ Obviously._

As she disappeared, Thranduil turned to his father and started to sign the plan, then caught himself and whispered instead. "They are scouts, and therefore they will try to run, not fight, so we need to cut off their escape routes before we attack."

"You cannot simply chase them down afterward?"

Thranduil sighed. "That would take a while, father. You would not believe how well an orc can hide in such thick cover. You _do_ want to return before dawn, yes?"

Oropher was not impressed. "Are you telling me you cannot track a few orcs?" He pointed down at the mess the scouts were leaving in their wake.

Thranduil did not want to waste time explaining that a lone, hunted orc would be more careful, or that they would not leave such obvious tracks through the thick brush they would dive into at the first opportunity, or that it was _dark_. "Father, which of us is more experienced in this area?"

The king raised an eyebrow. "Are you calling me incompetent?"

Thranduil ground his teeth and reminded himself how much he loved his father. "No. May we attend to our task now?"

Oropher signaled for the attack to begin—at least he could handle _that_—but everyone just looked at him funny.

"Father, the orcs are not yet—"

Oh, please, the orcs were well within shooting distance. There was no way their twenty elves could fail to hit three dozen orcs before the vile creatures escaped into the forest, even at night. He signaled again, with a look in his eyes that reminded the elves that they had best obey him, and they reluctantly raised their bows and fired.

The orcs scattered as arrows rained down on them from the side, but the elves reloaded almost immediately, and Eithryn's group realized what was going on and began to fire as well. Half the orcs were down before they could duck behind the trees, and Oropher turned to give Thranduil a superior look, but the prince was busy ordering everyone toward the ground. Oropher was rather offended by the exasperated look his son sent him; he failed to see how exactly he had ruined the situation.

Both halves of the patrol reached the ground seconds later and did their best to surround the orcs; Thranduil and Eithryn quickly found their way to each other and leapt into the path of four of the remaining enemies, and Oropher (who was still trying to climb down from the trees) stopped climbing to watch. They started out back-to-back, but then, just as the orcs were about to strike, Thranduil ducked and spun, finishing off Eithryn's orcs in two strokes as she backflipped over his head and took out his, and the king blinked as he realized the orcs were dead, just like that. All of them were, in fact, and the Silvan elves were sheathing their blades and starting to count the corpses. He scrambled down the tree as gracefully as he could and went to join them, but he had not been expecting every last one of them to look irritated when they say him coming. "What?"

Eithryn signed something to Thranduil, who shrugged helplessly. "We're missing two orcs," the Silvan elf said dryly. "That's two hours of hunting, at least."

"Then why are you not chasing them?"

The two seemed to be arguing through eye contact about who had to deal with him. "Because I saw these two run the instant we started shooting," Eithryn said eventually. "And because we don't know which way they went after that, and because they'll probably find holes to hide in and stay there until they think we're gone, _and_ because we need to decide who has to go after them."

Oropher did not see how this would have gone any better had they been closer to the orcs, except that the Silvans might have had more shots at the escaping orcs if—oh. Yes, that was probably it. Now that he thought about it, if he had waited, the orcs would have been directly under them with no cover close enough to save them. Perhaps he _had_ made a mistake. One thing was for sure; the entire patrol was frustrated with him because he had created extra work for a few of them, and he knew that to leave his mess for the others to clean up would not reflect well on him. "I will help hunt them down," he volunteered reluctantly.

The Silvan elves held back their groans; no one wanted to babysit the king. Sky nudged her husband. "Maybe we should..."

"Yes, I think so." He gave the patrol instructions for the rest of the route while his wife accepted the snacks offered by the elves who had thought to bring them in case _they_ ended up with this job, and then both set off without warning into the darkness, following the orcs' tracks as well as they could in the limited light that found its way through the leaves. Oropher had to run to catch up.

. . . . . .

"There it is," Thranduil whispered.

"Do you want to try?"

He gave his wife a look. "Will you laugh if I miss?"

"Only if it's by a lot."

He poked her in the ribs, then nocked an arrow on his bow and, with only a moment's hesitation, sent it shooting toward the orc—

—and right into its heart.

"You hit it!" Eithryn exclaimed.

"Must you sound so surprised?"

"It was a hard shot!"

He raised an eyebrow.

"No, not for me, but for everyone else." Then she thought about it and frowned. "Except Kilvara... and Storm... and a lot of other Silvans..."

"You are making me feel so good about my archery skills."

"...You've made progress, okay?"

"Indeed he has," Oropher agreed.

They both glanced over briefly as though remembering he was there, then kept talking. "I will never be good enough for close combat," Thranduil said.

"Neither will Taen, but he still uses his bow all the time, and, you know, a lot of Silvans don't fight like that, either. It takes too much practice."

Oropher rolled his eyes. They had been this way all night, pretending he was not there as they tracked down and killed first one orc and then the other. At least they had not run off and abandoned him. "Shall we _finally_ be going home, then?"

Thranduil nodded without looking at him and tried to take Eithryn's hand, but Oropher decided he had had enough and stepped between them. "Do you have something to say to me?" he asked his son, wrapping his arm around Thranduil's shoulders as he often had whenever he thought there was a chance his youngster would try to avoid a conversation.

Thranduil shook his head as Eithryn bounced over to his other side. "No." If he started that discussion again, they could be out there all night.

Oropher did not move an inch. "Really? Nothing at all?"

"You're a terrible orc-hunter," Sky put in.

He glared at her, but bit back his reply. "At least your wife is honest," he told his son.

Thranduil realized the older Sindar was not going to let this go easily. "Father," he said, "You have not spent time in the forest as we have. _Fighting_," he specified before Oropher could disagree. "You do not know the strategies needed for this terrain. You know this; you are not a fool. So _why_ did you try to take command?"

Oropher had no answer to that, so he did as he always did in such situations. "Why did your soldiers hesitate?"

Thranduil groaned.

Oropher narrowed his eyes. "Would you like to put that into words?"

Sky was starting to think this would be a good time to explore.

"My elves did nothing wrong. You gave a flawed order and they were right to question it."

"Did I, now?"

"Yes," Sky said bluntly. "And you're just making it worse by not admitting it."

Oropher's icy eyes snapped to her. "Did I ask for your opinion?"

"Oh, you don't want it? That's new."

"Eithryn," Thranduil muttered, feeling his position change from opponent to peacekeeper.

"This discussion is between my son and I."

"Then why—"

Oh, no. "Eithryn, please..."

"You agree with your father?" she asked, rolling her eyes.

"No..." He pulled free of Oropher so he could cup his hand against her cheek and make her look into his eyes. "But Eithryn, I am trying to defuse the situation."

"You're not doing a very good job of it."

"Even so..." He held her gaze for a second, then moved so he was facing both of them. "I love you both very much," he told them seriously. "And I want to spend as much time as I can with each of you... And that is _very_ difficult when you cannot be in the same room without going at each other like a pair of bad-tempered hounds."

They eyed each other, each wanting to get along for Thranduil's sake, but both too stubborn to put any effort into it.

"And you are _so_ much alike."

They both stared at him in disgust.

He sighed.

"As I was saying," Oropher began, but a deep rumbling cut him off. The three elves' heads tipped up toward the sky just in time for the first drops of water to hit their faces.

Thranduil's eyes met Eithryn's. "How did he...?"

She was wondering the same thing.

"What are you doing?!" Oropher snapped at them, searching frantically for something that would shield him from the rain. A flash of lightning helped him in his hunt. "Find shelter!"

Sky snickered. "Don't tell me you're scared of water, too."

"We are not _scared_ of water," Thranduil informed her, yanking his hood over his head as the rain started to fall harder. "We merely dislike getting wet."

"Given the fuss you make when I put snow down your back, I'd say 'dislike' is an understatement." Sky had tried many times to cure Thranduil of his hatred of all things wet.

By now Thranduil was dashing back and forth between the trees, trying to find a spot where the rain would not reach them, which was more difficult than it sounded given that the rain ran down branches and poured off leaves to reach them even under the thickest limbs of the mighty plants. The wind was beginning to toss the branches, too, so that a spot that was safe one moment might have buckets of water dumped on it the next. "Here," he called finally. "This spot is quite dry."

"About time," Oropher groaned, appearing out of nowhere and ducking into the natural shelter under the roots of a great tree to get out of the downpour. His son quickly followed, but Sky hesitated, and Thranduil held his hand out to her. "Come on, it is not as small as it looks. I can fit easily enough, see?"

She started to join him, but then shook her head. "I think I'd rather get wet."

Thranduil frowned, not liking that plan. "Perhaps we can find a better shelter," he suggested, raising his voice so it would carry over the boom of thunder that sounded as he spoke.

"I don't mind," she said, while Oropher gave his opinion by smacking his son on the back of the head. All three of them had been soaked to the skin after mere seconds in the rain, after all, and Sky was right—Oropher _hated_ getting wet. Normally Thranduil would have agreed with him, but the prince was willing to sacrifice his happiness for the sake of his wife if need be.

"Small spaces bother her," he explained to his father, though his words fell on deaf ears. "She cannot join us in here."

Oropher raised an eyebrow as though asking why he should care.

"I will not leave her out in the rain!" Thranduil protested over the sound of the storm.

"I notice you are not offering her your spot."

That quieted the prince for a moment, until Eithryn said she wouldn't go in even if they _both_ got out. "I don't really mind the rain, anyway."

Thranduil still was not happy, but he _was_ considering giving in until he stopped dripping. But did his wife mean what she said, or was she only pretending she was fine like she always did?

Actually, Sky was kind of enjoying being drenched, but Thranduil wasn't going to want to leave her out there even if she told him so. Of course, Oropher would probably—

_BOOM_.

The thunderous explosion and the blinding flash that accompanied it sent Sky diving with a shriek into the shelter, where she burrowed into Thranduil's side for protection.

The lightning strike stunned the Sindarin elves, too, but Thranduil quickly recovered enough to realize what it was that had slammed into him. "Hello, Eithryn," he said, trying not to laugh. "I see you decided to join us, after all."

She pulled back to watch the two smoking halves of the struck tree split apart and fall, then grinned sheepishly. "Yes, well... Oh." She shrank back against him as she realized where she now was.

"There is room for you, I promise," Thranduil assured her, pushing himself back against the wall to give her as much space as possible. He started to ask his father to do the same, but Oropher had already done so and was watching his daughter-in-law with a mixture of amusement and concern—the latter was not an expression often seen on the king's face, Thranduil noted. Actually, he himself was becoming increasingly afraid that they were going to have a repeat of when he had first taken her into a cave; her breathing was accelerating, and he could feel her heart racing as he held her.

But then he breathed a relieved sigh as she calmed and snuggled closer to him. Maybe it was his presence, or maybe the space was just big enough, but it looked like she would be all right. He could not resist saying, "Do not fear, my love; I will not let the lightning frighten you again."

"Oh, shush," she sighed, knowing she wasn't going to hear the end of that one for a while, especially since Oropher's chuckle could be heard over the sound of the rain.

. . . . . .

The storm was over by the time the sun rose the next morning, and Thranduil carried Eithryn out of their shelter as she slept so she would not wake up in the cramped space. Oropher soon followed, grumbling (of course) about how his muscles ached now, and how wet it was, and anything else he could come up with; this eventually woke Eithryn up, though Thranduil was the only one who actually minded this. The three had just started the long walk home when they heard a whistle, and a moment later, another patrol appeared from the trees, clad in much more waterproof clothing, and with a familiar leader.

"My first time leading a patrol, and I rescue the lost royals," Storm chuckled.

Thranduil knew better than to say anything out loud, but as Oropher grumbled about how they were _not_ lost, thank you very much, and Sky looked around for a good projectile, the prince caught his brother-in-law's eye and winked. Storm grinned, understanding perfectly.

There would be a story later.

**_Oropher isn't really the nature type._**


	27. Incompatible

**_Disclaimer: If you do not like this chapter, blame my 1:00 a.m. self, because she thought of it, not me._**

"Healer!"

Felrion did not have to ask what that call meant, coming as it was in the voice of one of the king's messengers. He snatched his post-battle bag and ran out to where the Silvan she-elf was waiting for him with a horse.

. . . . . .

"A fine start to your fighting career this is," Taensirion mused to his sort-of-twins as Silana tried to stop the blood streaming from his ribs. They were just a few years short of fully-grown, and both—yes, both—were already quite capable fighters, and so, seeing that a few more elves would be invaluable in driving off the attacking orc band, he had let them join in the skirmish under his watchful eye. It seemed, though, that he had been paying a bit too much attention to them and not enough to how his own battle was going, and as a result, he had been quite nicely skewered. He probably should have been more concerned with his own welfare now than by Feren's frantic pacing, but such was the lot of a father.

"The bleeding will not stop!" Tears were welling up in Silana's eyes, and Taensirion forgot his own pain as he reached up to stroke her hair.

"Listen to me, both of you. I have survived much worse than this." That was true, although he did not like how he was starting to feel dizzy just from lying on the ground as he was. "The healers will be here any time now, and they will stop the bleeding. I will likely need to stay at home for a while to recover, but I will be all right in time."

Feren knelt on his other side. "Do you promise?"

"I promise," said Taensirion, who was mostly certain he would survive. He did let out an involuntary whimper, though, as Feren hugged him a bit too tightly.

. . . . . .

Not far off, amid the general chaos of elves trying to tend to their injured comrades, Kilvara was pressing a bloody cloth to Sky's head; it was a testament to the effectiveness of her husband's many, many lectures to her that the latter was only barely squirming.

"Thranduil's going to throw a fit," Sky groaned, looking down at her red-stained clothes. "Good thing you're not hurt, since Felrion—I'm still mad about that, by the way," Sky informed her friend as her train of thought abruptly teleported. "You couldn't've told us? Or ME? Come on."

"Did I mention the king told us what all of you did to get us together?" Kilvara reminded her unsympathetically, and for what must have been the twentieth time. It was her main argument, in fact.

"That traitor," Sky muttered. "But STILL. You just snuck off! Without telling us! And then you got MARRIED!"

Kilvara giggled.

Sky managed to stomp her foot from a sitting position.

"Sorry," Kilvara said cheerfully.

"I'm mad," Sky repeated.

"And I'm sorry," the red-haired she-elf lied again, grinning even wider as she noticed that Sky was totally distracted from her treatment. "I can't believe you didn't see it coming, though."

"Ugh..."

"Storm knew. He winked at us that evening."

Sky rolled her eyes. "Storm has magic romance-detecting powers... Kilvara?" Her friend had suddenly dropped the cloth and put her hand over her mouth, looking a little green.

"I just realized there's a lot of blood..."

Sky snorted, then started to convulse with badly-muffled laughter. "Wow, healer's wife..." The stretching of her wounds made her curl against the pain, but she couldn't stop.

"Sky?" Felrion ran up, healing supplies at the ready. "...Oh, you're laughing." His eyes scanned over her once, then over Kilvara—even though Sky was clearly the worse-hurt of the two—then over the rest of the scene. He grimaced when he saw Taensirion. "Look away for a minute," he told his still-queasy wife with a wink before running over there.

"Guess I'm fine, then," Sky decided, but Kilvara quickly moved to hold her down.

"He'll be back in a minute if Taen's okay." Kilvara winced as she watched Felrion bend over the Sindar, who had become a good friend of hers. "I think I'll go see how he's doing. Please stay here?"

Sky was looking past her and making a face. "I won't have a choice." Thranduil had just arrived on his elk (the second to hold its job) and taken control, at least until he noticed her and, more importantly, the blood she was covered in.

. . . . . .

"Is that comfortable?"

It was not, but Taensirion decided to accept the current arrangement of the pillows rather than be jostled any more, so he nodded. Felrion had decided that while he would recover, he and a couple of the other elves who were most badly hurt should stay in the nearby healer's building for the night, just in case, and so the healers were helping him get settled. He appreciated their efforts, but he mostly just wanted to be left alone so he could doze; the pain was starting to get to him.

"You're going to be here all night, so I suggest you be honest," Felrion said from the side. Taensirion could see why the other healers all looked to him for advice; he seemed to know exactly what his patients needed without asking. Indeed, the others quickly set to adjusting the pillows again, and Taensirion _did_ feel a little better afterward.

"Let me check your wound again, and then I promise we will leave you alone," Felrion told Taensirion when they were done.

The Sindar agreed to his terms and tried to stay relaxed as the healer's hands probed his side. "Congratulations, by the way," he said, deciding he had enough energy to sustain a conversation should Felrion decide to start one.

"Thank you," Felrion chuckled. "Does it ever stop startling you to remember that you are married? That... that she is yours?" He paused as the mention of Kilvara, remembering Sky's wounds, and a little voice in his head asked what he would have done if Kilvara had been hurt instead. He shook his head and went back to work.

Taensirion laughed. "It still hits me sometimes. And yet, at the same time, I cannot remember what it was like to live without her."

Felrion smiled. "I hear Feren and Silana had their first fight today." Would that be his own children someday? ...Would he watch as his sons or daughters went into battle, then try to save them when they returned?

"Yes, and they did very well," Taensirion was saying. "Both of them have a natural talent for fighting... Unlike someone." He offered the subtle half-smile he had perfected from years of trying not to let Oropher know he was laughing at him; Felrion's friends liked to remind him from time to time about his "curse", meaning the fact that he was more likely to kill himself with a sword than his enemies.

Normally Felrion would have rolled his eyes at the reminder, but this time it stung. And was Taensirion smirking at him?

Taensirion had only been trying to tease, but clearly Felrion had not taken it well. "I am—"

Assuming in his anger that the Sindar was going to continue making fun of him, Felrion dug his fingers into Taensirion's injured side to make him shut up. It worked; Taensirion let out a sharp gasp of pain and tried to jerk away.

Felrion realized what he had done and pulled back in horror.

Taensirion had to grit his teeth against the pain, but the guilt that flickered across the healer's face still did not escape his notice. "You did that on purpose!" he accused.

"I... I did not," Felrion lied weakly, wondering what had possessed him to hurt his patient. "I am sorry..." He tried to check the wound to see if he could undo some of the damage, but Taensirion shoved his hand away, and Felrion realized he had hurt the Sindar's feelings as much as his body. He rolled the remaining bandages around in his hand, wondering if he should have another healer put them on.

Taensirion, for his part, was wondering what he had done to provoke such a thing. It seemed Felrion did not have a sense of humor about his lack of fighting skill today, but lashing out like that was hardly a good way to show it, especially since there was not much Taensirion could do to defend himself in his current state.

Luckily, both of them were distracted then as another healer leaned in to tell Taensirion that Lanthirel had come to see him, and Felrion decided to risk going back to work, hoping that the Sindar would not protest in front of his wife.

"I am sorry I took so long, but the children were quite upset," Lanthirel told Taensirion as she sat in the chair next to his bed and put her hand on his.

"I remember Faena was the first time," Taensirion said, ignoring Felrion's presence to the best of his ability. "So was Milaera, that time I almost lost my eye."

"You get hurt far too often," she scolded, but she smiled a little. "You really should be more careful."

"I _am_ careful," he grumbled.

"Not careful enough." She kissed him on the cheek, then smiled at Felrion. "Thank you."

Felrion forced a smile of his own as he gathered up his supplies, then decided to try to make peace. He started to ask if Taensirion needed more painkillers—he certainly owed it to him—but he only got as far as, "Are you—"

"Please leave."

Well, if the Sindar did not want Felrion to make it up to him, Felrion would not try. He gave a curt nod and walked out, insisting to himself that he had done what he could.

And Lanthirel tried to remember the last time Taensirion had snapped at someone like that, hurt or not.

. . . . . .

Thranduil broke into a run as he ascended the last few steps up to his home and burst through the door, not stopping to close it as he hurried to the bedroom, afraid of what he would find—if only he were a commoner so that he would not have to deal with the aftermath of the raid until his father arrived!

The rigidity melted from his muscles as his wife, who was currently sporting a blood-stained bandage wrapped around her middle and another around her head, shrank away from a butler who was very patiently trying to force-feed her with one hand while holding her in the bed with the other.

"Let me try, Galion," Thranduil chuckled, seating himself on the other side and gently prying the cup of hot tea from the butler's hands. He then handed the cup to Eithryn and motioned for her to drink.

She took a quick sip, then demanded, "Did we lose anyone?"

Her husband shook his head. "We did not, thanks to you, though Taensirion is not well enough to go home yet." A chill ran down his spine at his words, but he knew he couldn't scold Eithryn for her recklessness this time; she had undoubtedly saved many lives.

She smiled and finally relaxed, gulping down the tea as he tucked the blankets around her—but the silence only lasted for the minute it took her to drink. "Please don't tell me I'm going to be stuck here all night."

Thranduil grimaced; the healer who had treated her earlier had said that "a week in bed" would have her feeling better.

Eithryn took one look at his face and tried to jump up. "Nope." She was prepared for Thranduil's restraining arm and would have ducked under it if not for the sudden sharp pain in her side.

Thranduil's winced as the remaining color drained from his wife's face, and he caught her and gently lowered her into the bed. "If you are uncooperative, you will only slow your recovery," he told her sternly, although he was secretly relieved that the fight was still in her. If Eithryn ever rested without complaint, he would probably carry her to the nearest healer at a run.

Of course, such a thing was also likely to happen if she were forced to hold still for a full week, although which of them would need the healer was debatable. Already, the suffering look she was giving him was breaking his heart.

"Ah, Eithryn," he sighed, looking to Galion for help, but the butler just shrugged. "Galion, you may go home now," he added as an afterthought, but the Silvan elf was shaking his head before the prince finished.

Both of them were distracted by a moan from Eithryn, but then they smirked at each other, understanding that the sound was merely a result of the she-elf's realization that she was going to be fussed over for a long, long time. Thranduil patted her hand soothingly, but she just gave him an accusatory look.

. . . . . .

Lanthirel, sensing that Taensirion needed to cool off a little from whatever had happened, let him rest for a few hours before asking about Felrion, and with a little bit of coaxing, he told her his side of the story. "He has never done anything like that before," he finished, feeling honestly confused.

Lanthirel was equally shocked that Felrion, of all elves, would do something like that. "It must have meant something to him that we do not see," she said softly.

"Yes..." But even so, Taensirion did not think he had quite deserved that. He sighed and closed his eyes, too tired to bother being angry anymore.

. . . . . .

Kilvara heard the two Sindar talking as she walked past, but she politely kept going. She found Felrion alone in the back room, halfheartedly sorting herbs. "Everything's calmed down now," she told him. "How's Taensirion?"

He winced and changed the subject. "I have to stay here tonight, in case anyone needs anything."

Kilvara was momentarily afraid that it might not have been Taensirion's voice that she heard, but she knew someone should've told Oropher, at least, if he hadn't made it, and she'd been with the king most of the day. "Felrion?"

He closed his eyes. "I... I did something I shouldn't have done."

"...what do you mean?"

He looked away.

Kilvara moved over to wrap her arm around his waist. "You can tell me," she promised.

He looked at his new wife, took a deep breath, and nodded. "Something he said made me mad, and... and I... I lost it and hurt him."

"Hurt him?"

"I jammed my fingers into his wound." Felrion leaned on the table and put his head in his hands.

She winced, but after a moment she said, "At least it's Taensirion. He'll forgive you, won't he?"

"He hasn't yet." He hesitated, then added, "And I haven't forgiven myself."

"Oh, don't be like that." She turned him to face her. "What did he say to make you angry?"

He was suddenly very interested in his shoes. "He made fun of how I can't fight."

"We do that all the time," she reminded him.

"I know, but... this was different."

Kilvara couldn't imagine Taensirion trying to hurt Felrion's feelings, but maybe anything was possible if he was hurting enough. "Oh."

There was a brief silence. "Sky's doing well," Kilvara said finally. "I checked on her before I came. She's bored to death, but Storm's going to go over as soon as he finds all the orcs that got away, so that'll help."

"That's good," Felrion agreed absently.

Another silence. "Do you think you should apologize to him in the morning?" Kilvara suggested not-so-subtly.

"Probably," Felrion said, though he wanted to disagree. After all, wasn't it at least partly the Sindar's fault?

. . . . . .

Thanks to their wives' advice, the two elves would probably have talked everything out in the morning and forgiven each other if Taensirion had not woken up in the middle of the night.

It was the pain that did it. It had only been a dull throbbing when he fell asleep, but now he was certain his whole left side was on fire. He tried to sit up, only to fall back with a groan, and beside him, Lanthirel stirred in her sleep. "Healer?" he called softly, trying not to wake his wife.

In another room, Felrion was reading to keep himself awake—the healers were taking turns staying up in case anyone needed anything—and thinking not-so-nice thoughts about Taensirion. He almost woke up one of the others upon hearing Taensirion call, but changed his mind at the last moment. He was an adult; he could handle this.

Taensirion had not been expecting Felrion to appear—he had quite forgotten about their conflict until then, actually, and in his surprise he forgot for a moment why he had called. Felrion already knew what was wrong, though, just from the tone of Taensirion's voice, and he'd grabbed a small bottle of the proper pain medication on the way in. He handed it to Taensirion now, then retreated back a few steps.

Taensirion drained the bitter liquid in one gulp, grimacing at the taste, then lay back and waited for the pain to fade.

Without thinking, Felrion came forward to make sure there was no blood on the bandages, but the Sindar saw him approaching and flinched away again. "Please do not touch me," he said as politely as he could manage.

Felrion stiffened. "I am only trying to help." What, now he wasn't worthy to treat the Sindar?

"I would prefer that someone else do so, if it is necessary," Taensirion said quietly. Felrion was clearly still angry about whatever he had done, and Taensirion was not sure he trusted the healer not to try to hurt him again.

Felrion gritted his teeth. "Of course. Let me waste my time waking someone else up. We want you to be _comfortable_, after all."

"Is it so unreasonable for me to wish to be tended by a healer who does not hold some unexplained grudge against me?"

_Unexplained_? "I'm sorry, are you saying _I_ started this?"

"Would you kindly explain to me what I did wrong?" Both elves were keeping their voices down, but their tone hardly counted as friendly.

"I'd just never realized before that one had to be a fighter to be valuable."

"I never said that!"

"It was implied."

Taensirion snapped. "Silvan, I do not know where you got this idea or what you have against me, but you are not and will never be a fighter, and I suggest you accept your place in life and grow up before you lose what you _do_ have. And for goodness' sake, take your problems elsewhere and let me sleep so I can get out of here tomorrow."

Felrion was trembling with the urge to punch that glare off Taensirion's face, but he instead he folded them behind his back and said, "I would be glad to, _Sindar_."

Taensirion's eyes stayed narrowed until the healer was out of sight.

. . . . . .

Things were going much better, if not perfectly, at the prince and princess's house. Eithryn fidgeted all night, but thankfully she didn't try to get up again, mostly due to Thranduil's, Galion's, and, later, Storm's attempts to distract her. Finally, though, as morning approached, Thranduil sensed that she was at the end of her rope—not that it took much sensing, what with the miserable look in her green eyes. He suspected that if he did not do something, she might very well take several months to heal.

Galion and Coryn went to make breakfast—who knew Coryn could cook?—just before the sun rose, leaving the couple alone, and it was then that Eithryn unleashed her most devastating weapon. When Thranduil made the mistake of leaning in to check the wound on her head, she activated her pleading look, which had yet to fail her when used on her husband.

Thranduil's heart melted like a snowball in a furnace, but with a great effort, he shook his head. "You cannot risk hurting yourself further."

Her eyes got bigger.

"No, Eithryn."

They got bigger still.

Thranduil bit his lip.

Just as Eithryn's eyes were growing beyond what should have been possible given the size of her face, Thranduil came up with an idea—one that now seemed incredibly obvious. "Compromise," he said, sliding his arms under her and lifting her very, very carefully from the bed.

When Storm and Galion returned with four plates of food, they found their friends out on the balcony, both of them looking much happier, although Storm suspected Thranduil's arms would be rather tired by the time the week was up.

. . . . . .

Meanwhile, Kilvara was feeling optimistic as she arrived at the healer's building. After all, Felrion and Taensirion were both reasonable people, and if they had not apologized to each other yet, it shouldn't take too much to get them to do so.

She had never been more wrong.

"I'm sure he's just fine," Felrion was telling one of the other healers as she came in. His back was to her, but she didn't need to see his face to guess that he was frowning.

"Don't you think you should check, though?" the other elf asked. "It's still hurting him a lot, and I'm not sure he's ready to walk home."

Kilvara slipped past them and made her way to the room Taensirion was in. He was still in bed, of course, but he looked cheerful despite that. Lanthirel smiled at the Silvan elf from her chair. "Good morning, Kilvara."

Kilvara was pleasantly surprised that Taensirion's wife recognized her—they'd only met once or twice. "Good morning, Lanthirel." Then, hesitantly, she asked, "How are you, Taensirion?"

"Much better, thank you," he replied with a cheerful smile. Good, Kilvara thought, he wasn't still mad. Behind him, Lanthirel tilted her head to the door with a questioning expression.

"I think the healers are going to come check on you soon," Kilvara said, and when he glanced that way, she nodded meaningfully to Lanthirel. "Should I tell them you're ready?"

Taensirion started to open his mouth to say he could use a few more minutes, but Lanthirel answered for him. "Yes, please do."

And so Kilvara went back out; Felrion noticed her almost immediately and gave her a shy hug rather than greeting her out loud. She laughed and kissed him. "They're waiting for you," she told him innocently.

His smile vanished immediately. "...Yes, I should go see if Taensirion is well enough to leave."

If the other healer hadn't still been there, Kilvara would've told him there wasn't any reason to worry, but instead all she could do was nudge him in the proper direction.

"Okay, I'm going," he muttered under his breath, and Kilvara took a step back. Maybe he was just tired?

Lanthirel kept an eye on Taensirion as they heard Kilvara and Felrion approaching. Even though she had a husband who (under normal circumstances) got along well with almost everyone, she had more experience than Kilvara did in this area, and she could tell from the way Taensirion's face went a little too blank that this wasn't going to go smoothly. She reached over to squeeze his hand, and when he looked over at her, she smiled encouragingly, trying to communicate that she believed he would handle this right. He looked away, and continued to do so when Felrion came in; the healer, for his part, stopped by the door and eyed Taensirion warily until Kilvara cleared her throat, and then rather than saying anything he stalked over to the Sindar and once again started to check his injury.

Taensirion stiffened, but kept his eyes on the ceiling.

Kilvara, who had not been expecting this at all, looked for Lanthirel for help, but the older she-elf just sighed, sensing that now was not the time to try to make their husbands get along.

Kilvara, though, was not ready to give up yet, and after more than a minute of silence, she was at the end of her rope. "Stop that, both of you!"

"Stop what?" Felrion asked, and Taensirion yelped as the healer prodded him harder than was necessary.

"What was _that_ for?"

"I am sure he did not mean to," Lanthirel said quickly, but it was too late to stop the chain reaction.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I hurt the poor, fragile Sindar again?"

"Some healer you—"

"Taensirion, stop," Lanthirel interrupted. She moved to sit on the edge of the bed and put her hand on his cheek. "Calm down."

Felrion tried to say something, but Kilvara followed Lanthirel's example. "Felrion!"

Felrion had forgotten that his wife was there this time. He quickly shut his mouth, turning red with shame.

Lanthirel caught Kilvara's eye and nodded toward the door, and the Silvan she-elf took Felrion's hand and half-dragged him out of the room.

Taensirion sighed and closed his eyes.

. . . . . .

A few minutes later, as Taensirion was being checked over by a different healer, Lanthirel excused herself to go find Kilvara; the other she-elf was outside talking to Felrion, presumably about his behavior, but the healer got up and left as soon as he saw Taensirion's wife. Lanthirel sat on the ground next to Kilvara and gave her a resigned smile. "They are both ashamed of themselves."

Kilvara stared in the direction Felrion had gone. "I don't understand. He _never_ acts like this!"

"If you think that was bad, you should see Feren when he is feeling rebellious," Lanthirel chuckled. "Or Taensirion whenever he has not gotten enough sleep."

"You aren't mad?"

"Oh, I am sure Taensirion is just as much a part of the problem as Felrion. I think something must have happened while I was asleep, or else Taensirion, at least, should not have acted like that." She shook her head. "I suppose we will just have to keep them apart until they calm down and then hope they work it out eventually."

Kilvara didn't look very comforted.

"I would not worry too much," Lanthirel told her. "Even if they decide they do not like each other, I do not expect that anything like that will happen again. They embarrassed themselves quite thoroughly." Seeing that the other she-elf was still quite upset, she reached over to rub Kilvara's shoulder. "Yes, husbands do silly things sometimes. You know what? Come to visit sometime and I will tell you some of my stories. Perhaps you should bring Sky as well—besides having her fair share of tales, I am sure she would appreciate hearing some of the things Oropher's wife used to tell me."

Kilvara giggled.

**_I came up with a fun prompt._**

**_Step 1: Take the two nicest characters you can find._**

**_Step 2: Make them hate each other._**

**_Trust me, it's awesome._**


End file.
